A Different Victim
by blacksmokeangel
Summary: Instead of Garrett Jacob Hobbs as the Minnesota Shrike, there's a man named Stanley Kaye known as the Tarot Killer, who uses his victims as Tarot cards; and instead of Abagail Hobbs nearly being victim to her father, it's a young woman named Holly Kaye. Holly's certainly not Abagail, but we'll let her take Abagail's place. Let's see how long she survives. (WillxOCxHannibal)
1. Chapter 1

I come back to consciousness slowly, at first, then all at once. Suddenly light is shining in my eyes and there's rapid beeping in my ears. There's pain deep in the juncture between my neck and shoulder, my head is throbbing, and immediately I'm in panic mode because the last thing I remember is…

"Dad!" I scream, hysteria making my voice hoarse, "Dad!"

There are wires and all sorts of machines attached to my arms and I start yanking at them, making the beeping turn into one long keen. Hospital. I'm in a hospital, I realize.

The nurses rush in, holding me down, yelling at each other, trying to get me to stop struggling. I hear something about a sedative and my mind comprehends that they're going to knock me out again if I don't calm down.

"Wait!" I call, trying to force myself to relax, "wait!"

One of them must hear me because the hands holding me down slowly let me go, and I'm just lying in a hospital bed, still scared and confused. At least I'm not screaming anymore. I glance around at all the unfamiliar faces, trying to figure out who to speak to.

"Where am I?" I ask shakily, turning to the nearest nurse as the others busy themselves with cleaning up my mess.

"Baltimore Psychiatric Facility," she answers gently, giving me a sympathetic look, "do you remember what happened?"

My mouth goes dry at the question. Oh, I remember. I remember my father grabbing me as the front door burst open, threatening to kill me if the FBI agent didn't drop his gun. I remember reacting on instinct when I heard that, slamming my elbow into his gut, bucking and kicking, the knife slicing through the meat between my neck and shoulder rather than my jugular. I remember falling to the floor, gunshots, then someone above me, panicking more than I was, frantic hands trying to staunch the blood flow…

"Yes," I choke out, "where…where is my father? Is he still alive?"

The nurse studiously avoids my gaze without answering. I frown, disliking the unfair treatment. Hasn't she ever heard of quid-pro-quo? Does she think ignoring me makes me feel better?

"I'm going to call Doctor Bloom," she informs me, "try to get some rest until she gets here."

I sigh, watching as she and the other nurses leave the room, a new IV attached to my arm. What am I supposed to do now?

Alana Bloom entered the hospital room as quietly as possible, in case Holly was asleep. The girl was sitting up, staring out the window with a magazine forgotten in her lap. She was pretty, with gray eyes and brown hair tinted just the slightest shade of red. Her skin was pale and smooth, but it was hard to tell if the light skin tone was natural, or from all the blood she'd lost recently. Holly took after her mother, but her features were less severe thanks to her father's genes.

Upon hearing the door open, the girl turned to see who had entered, surprised to find that it wasn't a nurse or a doctor she recognized.

"Hello, Holly," Alana spoke first, smiling.

"Hello," Holly answered politely, expectantly.

"My name is Alana Bloom. I'm a psychiatrist. I specialize in family trauma, among other things."

Holly's gaze was drawn the several colorful bags in Alana's hands as she approached the hospital bed, but the victimized woman nodded, indicating that she'd heard.

"You came to talk about my father?" she inquired, quicksilver eyes returning to Alana's.

Alana considered her, reading her. Holly's body language was hesitant, verging on defensive, but she at least seemed open to whatever Alana had to say. She shut the magazine in her lap and shifted into a more comfortable position for conversation, a subtle cue for the doctor to continue.

"If you want," Alana replied kindly, settling into the seat by the bed, "or we can talk about something else. Whatever you want."

Holly nodded, a smile finally pulling her lips up.

"Thank you," she said, blinking rapidly, "I don't think I'm ready to talk about it yet…"

Alana nodded her understanding, expression encouraging. Holly's gaze drifted away, to her hands in her lap. She was waiting for Alana to say something, to keep the dialogue going.

"I brought you some things. Clothes, books, music. Anything that doesn't fit you just leave the tags on and I'll return it."

Holly looked at the colorful bags curiously, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face.

"You brought me all that?" she asked in surprise.

"Yes, I thought you might be ready for a change and something other than Hollywood magazines."

Holly smiled, looking for a moment like she was going to cry before getting ahold of herself.

"Thank you," she managed past her constricted throat.

"You're very welcome," Alana answered, placing her hand over Holly's.

"I don't know, Jack," Alana said later that same day after leaving the hospital, "Holly doesn't show any signs that would lead me to believe she helped her father in any way, but…"

Jack Crawford leaned forward on his desk, fingers laced together. Doctor Hannibal Lector sat in the chair on Alana's right while Will Graham shifted restlessly behind them, on his feet. He desperately wanted to speak to Holly Kaye and it rankled him that he needed _permission _to do it. Hannibal, too, wanted to speak to her, but he was much more discreet about it.

"But…?" Jack Crawford prompted.

The only interest he had in Holly Kaye was if she helped her father kill people. During the investigation, it had been made clear that Holly often visited her father while she was in college and that they were close since her mother had passed away in a car accident when Holly was young.

"She feels as if she did something wrong and that's why her father hurt her. At this point, being too harsh or too confrontational will upset her and she may regress. I was surprised by how well she was doing today but that could easily change if she's pushed too much," Alana explained sternly, "I suspect she might have trust issues but it's too soon to tell yet."

Jack Crawford lowered his head, considering what the psychiatrist had said.

"I want to speak to her," Will cut in.

Alana shook her head.

"I don't think that's a good idea. She said she remembers what happened. I'm sure she remembers you. You shot her father, Will."

The FBI investigator frowned, wishing he could argue. Jack raised a finger at Alana, turning to Hannibal.

"What do you think, Doctor Lector?" he asked, much to her consternation.

Hannibal considered his colleague and what she'd said and weighed it against his own desires. He and Will had saved her life, he was sure that he at least would be able to reach her in some way.

"I believe that it would not be detrimental to Miss Kaye's health if Will and I were to visit her," he answered.

Everyone turned to see Jack's final decision.

"Alright then. It looks like you get your wish, Will."

I shift uncomfortably, considering the redheaded woman carefully. There's something about her that I just…don't like. I'm not sure what it is, but she's setting me on edge. Maybe I should press the panic button? Would she leave if I asked her to? No, Freddie Lounds seems like the persistent type.

"So…you're a journalist?" I ask, chewing on the inside of my lip uncertainly.

"That's right," she answers, giving me a strange sort of smile that makes me feel as if I'm cracked glass, "I want to tell the truth-your truth."

I swallow, feeling a twinge where the blade sliced through my flesh under the bandages.

"You mean what happened," I clarify, hand straying to wound.

Her gaze follows my hand as she nods, her expression sympathetic, but I can't help but think it's artificial.

"There are some people that think that...because you were so close with your father…you helped him kill people," Freddie reveals.

I freeze, feeling my eyes go wide. She has to be lying. She has to be. There's no way people think that I helped my father kill people!

"But-but he tried to kill me," I stammer, "Doesn't that mean anything?"

She shakes her head, placing a hand over mine. I want to pull away, uncomfortable with the physical contact, but remain still.

"You can change what people think. We can change that together. Everyone will know the truth," Freddie promises, blue eyes boring into mine.

I look away, eyes straying towards the door wistfully. I wish Alana would come in and save me. I prefer her over Freddie Lounds, at the very least, even if I'm not a big fan of Alana either.

"How did they catch my father?" I ask at last, turning to look at her.

"A man named Will Graham," she replied, eyes sparking with dislike as the name passes her lips, "he's also the one that killed him."

I swallow, taking this in. The man I remember, the one whose hands shook as he held the gun, the one who was more scared than I was when I was bleeding out in the living room. I remember his eyes, the desperation as he pressed his hands to the wound.

"Will Graham," I repeat, committing the name to memory.

I don't know whether I want to thank him or if I want to hate him for what he did.

"He's not an investigator," Freddie continues, "not officially, anyway, because he's unstable."

The door opens quietly behind her, and in walks none other than Will Graham himself. He looks calmer than I remember, less…strung out. His hair is a curly, dark shade of brown, messy but in an endearing sort of way. He's taller than I remember, maybe half a foot taller than me if we stood next to each other. There's stubble along his jaw, and his eyes are a pretty color that I can't tell leans more towards blue or green from the distance. I sit up straighter as Freddie continues, probably knowing that he's right behind her.

"He catches insane men because he can think like them. He is insane."

I open my mouth to say something, I'm not sure what, but she turns to Will before I can, finally leaving my bedside. The two face off, the tension practically crackling between them and I wish that I could just disappear into the bed sheets. I grip the blanket, knotting my hand into the fabric, wishing Freddie would just leave already.

"Hello Mister Graham," Freddie greets with false sweetness.

"Miss Lounds," he nearly spits.

With a satisfied expression, she glances back at me, as if to say "I told you he's insane" and pulls a business card from her bag.

"In case you wanted to talk," she says, but Will snatches it out of her hand.

I swallow, glancing between the two uncertainly. I reach for the panic button, but a third man, who I'd noticed but not paid much attention to shakes his head subtly. He's a little taller than Will, but compared to me he'd probably tower. He's impeccably dressed, much more sophisticated-looking than Will Graham, with his hair combed away from his face.

"Please excuse us, Miss Lounds. We'd like to speak to Miss Kaye in private," he says smoothly, and I note he has an accent.

Freddie looks for a minute like she's legitimately scared before she tosses me one last look over her shoulder and leaves. The other man, whom I don't recognize, shuts the door behind her. I shift on the bed, crossing my legs under me.

"You're Will Graham," I say, wondering if my voice betrays some of my confliction.

"Yes," he confirms without looking me in the eye.

I glance behind him at the second man curiously.

"My name is Hannibal Lector. I'm a psychiatrist, like Doctor Bloom. I was there when your father tried to kill you," he introduces himself, approaching the bed.

I brush a few stray strands of hair from my face as I try to recall if I've seen him before.

"I'm sorry," I murmur at last, "I only remember Mister Graham."

Hannibal settles in the chair Alana was in yesterday, offering me a reassuring smile.

"That's because you had already passed out when I arrived," he explains, "but I've visited you here while you were in your coma, as has Will."

I look at Will who is standing by the bed now as well. Unlike with Freddie, I don't mind them being near me. Maybe it's because they were there when everything happened, or maybe it's because they both tried to save my life, but I'm not as wary of them as I feel towards everyone else.

"Was Freddie telling the truth?" I ask.

Will looks away, obviously thinking that I'm talking about him being insane.

"Do people really think I helped my father?"

He looks up, obviously surprised, and exchanges glances with Hannibal. He clenches his jaw, clearly annoyed, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"Perhaps," Hannibal answers honestly, "the FBI is investigating the possibility, but there hasn't been any evidence."

I lower my head, a mixture of frustration and disappointment washing over me. It's not as if they're going to find anything, but it's not exactly comforting to know that I'm a suspect at the same time that I'm a victim.

"We don't believe you had anything to do with it," Will adds, "but the FBI doesn't want to miss anything just in case…"

I look up at him, hoping to meet his eyes, the same eyes that I saw as I was bleeding out, but he studiously avoids looking at me.

"Why don't we go for a walk?" Hannibal suggests, helping me from the bed, "You look like you could use some fresh air."

I stroll through the hospital's garden between Will and Hannibal, my hands shoved deep in the pockets of the new jacket Alana bought me. We exchange few words as we march in the cool air, and by the time we rest for a moment, I'm so desperate to speak to Will that I break the silence first.

"I'm sorry," I say, making both men look at me, shocked, "about what Freddie Lounds said."

Will settles beside me on the bench, and I wonder for a moment if maybe he's just as eager to speak to me.

"It's not your fault. That woman…she likes to spread lies for publicity," he tells me, "she only does something if she thinks she'll get something out of it."

"Freddie Lounds is dangerous," Hannibal agrees, "it'd be best to keep your distance from her."

"She said she wants to 'tell my truth'," I reveal, "but I don't think I want people to know any more about my truth than they already do."

Will scowls at nothing in particular, squeezing his hands together in his lap.

"She chooses the version of truth that suits her best and pursues it pathologically. She is not someone you should put your faith in."

I nod, accepting what their saying more willingly than anything that Freddie had. I just don't trust her. Something about Freddie Lounds raises alarm bells in my head, and I really haven't been in any position to ignore my instincts lately.

"She makes me uneasy," I admit, "I don't like speaking with her."

"I'll see about keeping her away from you," Hannibal offers and I give him a grateful smile.

I turn back to Will, hesitantly reaching out and touching his hand. He's warm, which surprises me, since it's so cool out. He looks stunned for moment as he finally meets my eyes.

"I don't blame you for killing him," I tell him gently, "I actually…I'm struggling with what to feel about him since he tried to kill me."

He flips his hand around, so that he's holding my hand in his, which is certainly a comforting sign. I'd been afraid for a moment that I was overstepping my bounds.

"I'm sure you're confused, Holly, but we can help you sort it out," Hannibal interjects, placing his hand on my shoulder.

"It's alright, if you're angry at me," Will adds, "I…understand."

I shake my head, trying to think of how to get my point across.

"Doctor Bloom told you I remember everything before I blacked out, didn't she?" I ask, to which he nods, "I remember how badly your hands were shaking when you held the gun."

His hand tightens on mine, but not painfully. Taking this as encouragement, I continue.

"When he cut me…I heard the gunshots but then you were beside me and you looked so scared, more scared than I was. You were trying so hard to save me...I remember thinking that I wanted to comfort you in some way and then I blacked out."

A sad smile pulls at one side of his mouth as he shifts on the bench.

"You must not remember this, but right before you blacked out you reached up and touched my face. I couldn't figure out why until you said that just now."

He's right, I don't remember it, but it sounds like something I'd do. Satisfied that I've said I what I needed to say, I look back at Hannibal.

"Thank you, for helping as well, Doctor Lector," I add.

He smiles down at me, squeezing my shoulder.

"There's no need to thank me, Holly," he assures me.

I hesitate, looking between them.

"What now?" I ask, "I was going to move but I don't want to now. I was staying with a friend while I was in college, and I was just visiting my father before I left when he…what am I supposed to do?"

The two men exchange glances again before Hannibal turns back to me.

"Well that depends on you, Holly."

"I-I think I want to go back…"


	2. Chapter 2

The house was a small, single floor structure, with a sloping roof and raised porch. The outside was painted an unassuming shade of gray, with a red door. There was a small, gray handprint near the bottom, where Holly had made her mark when she was a little girl. The lawn was well kept, though the flower beds were barren. There was yellow police tape covering the door and someone had spray-painted "psychic psychos" under the windows and on the garage door.

"Holly," Will said, drawing her from downward spiraling thoughts, "you don't have to do this. We can still go back."

Holly shook her head, her hair sweeping side to side as she did. She way she was sitting, it looked like she was bracing for a blow, and her facial expression was mutinously unsure, but her steel grey eyes were determined.

I want to do this," she insisted, balling her hands into fists on her lap, "please."

Will nodded, feeling a rush of pride and admiration for her bravery. Hannibal glanced at her in the rearview, checking that she was still being rational, not trying to push herself prematurely. As he pulled into the driveway, she sat forward, looking terrified.

"Holly," the psychiatrist called, "we'll be right there beside you. When you've had enough, we'll leave. We only stay as long as you want to."

She nodded, seemingly reassured by his words. All three exited the car, and Alana Bloom came to join them from her own car. For a moment, she noticed something about the way Hannibal and Will flanked Holly, the way they positioned themselves almost like they were protecting her from something before deciding she was just reading too much into it. Hannibal placed his hand lightly on Holly's back.

"After you, Holly."

She waited a second longer before walking towards the house, all three of her companions close behind her. When they got to the front door, Will tore down the police tape and held the door for them to enter. Holly frowned as she looked around, hugging herself.

"It's too cold in here," she murmured, mostly to herself, "Usually there'd be a fire going…"

Will watched, tense, as she approached the living room. She paused at the dried stains on the carpet, fingers twitching.

"This is where I fell when he…?" she trailed off, unable to find the appropriate word for what her father had done.

"Yes," Will answered, by her side.

She stared at the spot and he could see that it was surreal to her, that she almost died in that exact spot. Her gaze flicked away, a few feet back where another reddish-brown stain marked the floor.

"That's where my father died?" she asked.

He felt something in his chest tighten uncomfortably when she said that, even though she'd already absolved him for what he'd done.

"Yes."

He wasn't sure what how he felt about Holly, other than he felt responsible for her. She was too old for him to consider her a surrogate daughter, even though Hannibal had suggested it at first. No, she was something else to him, but whatever it was, he was compelled to protect her.

"Holly?" Alana called, snapping her back to reality.

"I'm alright," Holly answered, stepping away from the bloodstains unsteadily.

Will was there immediately, placing a comforting arm around her shoulders. She glanced up at him, then to Hannibal and Alana. She reminded Will of one of the strays almost, the way she pressed into his side, unsure and distrustful of what to do or where to go. Alana had warned him that Holly was not another stray for him to collect, but perhaps she had been wrong in a way.

"Is there anything your father might have kept of this victims?" Alana asked, approaching Holly carefully.

The girl frowned in question, looking to Hannibal for some sort of explanation.

"There was a patch of skin missing on each of the victims," Will answered instead, "we were hoping you'd know what he did with them."

Holly looked at the ground, thinking, before shaking her head.

"No, I'm sorry," she murmured remorsefully, "It's hard to wrap my head around the fact that he killed people to begin with, let alone that he kept trophies…"

Will tightened his grip on her shoulders, reassuring her, but everyone was quiet, trying to think of what to say.

"Holly?" a new voice asked from the door, breaking the heavy silence

A young woman with blond hair and brown eyes, around the same age as Holly, stood behind Hannibal and Alana. She looked uncertain, like she wasn't sure she was allowed to enter.

"Stephanie!" Holly exclaimed, darting from the safety of Will's arm to her friend.

Hannibal stepped back, allowing the brunette a way through as she flew into the blonde's embrace.

"I'm so glad you're okay!" Stephanie sighed, relieved, as they pulled away from each other.

"How did you know I was here?" Holly questioned.

"I saw you get out of the car with them," the other girl answered, nodding at the men and woman watching them.

Holly made introductions soon after that. The blonde girl was Stephanie Thomas, Holly's childhood friend that had also been visiting her parents when Stanley Kaye had tried to kill his daughter. Apparently, Stephanie's mother was still in denial that her daughter was a woman, because Stephanie divulged that she'd had to sneak out while she wasn't looking.

"We're going to go out back," Holly informed Will and Hannibal, "but we'll be close by."

Will looked like he was going to protest but Hannibal placed a hand on his shoulder, nodding at Holly that she could leave.

"We'll be right here if you need us," he promised as she slipped out the back door with Stephanie in the lead.

The two men stayed behind watching the girls disappear down the hill behind the house while Alana spoke to Jack Crawford on the phone about Stephanie Thomas. Will sighed, resigned to wait in the house for Holly and Stephanie.

Is she how you imagined?" Hannibal asked after a moment.

"No," Will answered honestly, "Holly is…more forgiving than I thought she'd be, considering I shot her father."

It was almost too good for him to believe. At first he'd thought she was trying to manipulate him, planning some sort of revenge, but Will's strange ability to empathize told him that that was not something Holly would do, even if it had crossed her mind. The way that she'd remembered him had given her a noble, heroic point of view towards him. Will had saved her life, killed the man that she rightfully viewed as her betrayer and nearly her executioner. She placed a trust in him-and in Hannibal-that she most likely wouldn't place in anyone else for a long time, so she wouldn't try to harm him unless he gave her extreme reason to.

"Yes, I noticed that as well," Hannibal agreed, "and she also seems to have a natural ability to read people, if her dislike for Miss Lounds is anything to consider."

Will couldn't help the hint of a smile that pulled at his mouth. When he'd walked in and heard the two women, he had been unreasonably angry, and the only reason Will had held his temper was remembering what Alana had said about Holly.

"Freddie Lounds needs to keep her distance, if she has any sort of intelligence at all-which she's shown she has," Will ranted lowly so that Alana wouldn't hear as he crossed his arms.

"We'll protect her, Will," Hannibal promised, "even from Miss Lounds."

Stephanie and I walk arm in arm down the hill behind the house. I glance behind me once, to see if Will and Hannibal are following, but it seems they've chosen to stay behind. A bit of anxiety flares in my chest for a moment, being alone with Stephanie, but it quickly subsides as she pulls me into conversation.

"How's your shoulder doing?" she asks curiously, glancing at the sling I'm resting my arm in, "Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes," I admit, "the doctors say I'll have to have physical therapy, since he cut through muscle."

She grimaces, patting my good arm sympathetically.

"You should have seen all the news crews that came here. It was ridiculous," Stephanie says, "And Katie Becker, you remember her?"

I glance at the sky, searching through memory since the name is familiar.

"That snotty girl that used to bully us in school?" I ask.

She nods, making a face.

"Yeah, you would have punched her if you'd seen all the bullshit she was spewing at the news crews. I know I was satisfied when I did."

I laugh, and it feels good, as I look back at her.

"You punched Katie Becker in the face?" I question in disbelief.

She grins, holding up her slightly bruised right hand.

"Yup," she confirms proudly, "gave her a black eye for being a lying attention whore."

I nudge her in the ribs, unable to keep myself from grinning.

"You didn't have to do that on my behalf," I chuckle, "though it's appreciated."

Stephanie shrugs, looking pleased with herself.

"She had it coming," she reasons, "especially since she was encouraging those stupid rumors that you were helping your father kill people."

The smile drops off my face almost immediately as I stare at my feet.

"I didn't help him," I tell her lowly.

She removes her arm from mine to hug me, making us stop at the bottom of the hill.

"I know, I believe you," she declares.

"I don't."

We both look up at the new voice. A man is standing a few feet away from us, glaring like I'm the most despicable thing in the world. I draw back slightly, alarmed. He's tall, taller than me, with a sort of hipster vibe. If I didn't feel threatened, I'd say he was attractive, but the dark circles under his eyes and the desperate craze to his eyes makes me think "unstable".

"This is private property," Stephanie snaps, putting an arm out to push me back, "so screw off."

"Did you help him?" the man sneers, ignoring her, "Did you chat up the men, bring them home and kill them or did you have daddy do it for you? Did you turn my brother into a tarot card?"

As he speaks he moves closer, and white hot panic works its way up my throat. Stephanie looks along the ground and I know what she's thinking of doing-throwing a rock at him, but I grab hold of her arm and yank her back. My intuition tells me that antagonizing him is not a wise idea. I doubt we could outrun him or take him on in a fight so…

"Will! Hannibal!" I scream and begin pushing Steph up the hill at full speed.

I glance behind me, and the man is closer than before, reaching for me. I scramble away as fast as I can, jostling my bad arm in the process. Pain shoots through me, but I ignore it as I continue running in full flight mode.

"Will! Hannibal!" I cry again as both men come rushing from the house.

Stephanie helps me stand upright as we clamber up the hill, holding my good arm as support since I don't have the other for balance. Will situates himself between us and the man, pulling his gun from the holster on his hip. Realizing that he's outnumbered and outgunned, the man turns and runs, presumably back the way he came. I don't stop moving until I've safely reached Hannibal and he collects me in his arms, pausing to give me a once over.

"Are you alright?" he asks, "You're not hurt?"

I shake my head, panting like I've run a mile and quaking uncontrollably.

"Holly," Will calls, coming to my side as he puts his gun in its holster again, "did you recognize that man?"

I shake my head, clutching onto Hannibal's jacket.

"I've never seen him before," I answer, distressed.

"What did he say?" Will continues, obviously trying to reign in his anger.

"He thinks I helped my father," I explain, "he was asking if I lured them in and if I turned his brother into a tarot card."

Will and Hannibal exchange glances, letting me know that there's something they're not telling me.

"What did he mean?" I ask, confused.

Will opens his mouth to answer, but the sound of footsteps alerts us that more have joined out party. I pull away from Hannibal to see who it is. To my displeasure, it is not only Stephanie's mother, but Katie Becker that has now joined us.

Katie has a badly concealed shiner on the left side of her face where Stephanie punched her. Otherwise, she looks like she always does, with perfect makeup and hair, her clothes carefully chosen to make her as attractive as possible. It's too bad she's such a terrible person, because she really is pretty. She was certainly popular in high school.

"Wow, what happened to your face, Katie?" Stephanie mocks.

Katie completely ignores her, her sole focus being on me as she stops, hands on her hips.

"Unbelievable," she laughs mirthlessly, "that you'd actually show your face here again."

I feel my expression torn between disgust and hatred. This girl has tormented me since we were little. In elementary, she picked on me for everything, from the strange grey of my eyes, to my height (I had been taller than most kids at that age even though now I'm average height at best), to the gaps that losing baby teeth made. In middle school, she taunted my awkward transition into puberty, and in high school she ruled the school and made fun of anything else she could think of.

"Who let you come here?" I demand, adjusting my skewed sling.

"Doctor Bloom," she answers, "you know she's a psychiatrist. She'll be able to tell right away that you're a liar and you helped your father kill those people. She can spot your type of crazy from a mile away."

I clench my hand into a fist, desperately wanting to punch her in the face like Stephanie had, but I know I'll just prove her right if I do.

"Back off, Katie," Stephanie snarls as I take a deep, calming breath, "before I make your eyes match."

"Stephanie," Misses Thompson interjects, "come home, now."

Stephanie shakes her head, blond hair flying around her as she stations herself closer to Will, Hannibal, and I. I look at the two men, wondering what I should do. I don't want Katie here, and I don't want Stephanie to get in the middle of anything either. I just want to leave now.

"Steph," I murmur, glancing around Will to meet her light brown eyes, "it's okay."

We know each other well enough that she reads my facial expression immediately and nods, sighing resignedly.

"Call me, okay?" she asks, hugging me.

"I will," I promise as she leaves with her mother in tow.

Katie is still sneering at me, arms crossed. Hannibal glances first at me and then at her before placing his hand lightly on the small of my back.

"Shall we go inside?" he suggests.

"What about Katie?" I ask, glancing at her unhappily.

Will places a hand on my shoulder lightly, giving me a serious, but reassuring look before looking over at Hannibal. They seem to have another silent conversation before the doctor stands back and gives me a pleasant smile.

"Excuse me for just a moment, Holly," he says cryptically, beginning up the hill towards Katie.

I look to Will, wondering what Hannibal is going to do. Catching my gaze, Will shifts closer, putting an arm around my shoulders again.

"Hannibal is better with people than I am," he confesses, "but you have to trust that he and I will take care of you Holly."

"I do," I reply immediately, following Will's gaze to Hannibal, "If I trust anyone, it's you two."

I observe, fascinated as Katie flashes Hannibal a flirty smile, her body language immediately changing. Of course, I can understand why. I admit that Hannibal (and Will, too) is attractive, but it's distasteful that she would act that way after basically calling me a serial killer. It's a little late to be putting on her charming act, I should think.

From where Will and I are standing, we can't hear what their saying, and Hannibal's back is to us, but I can certainly see Katie's expressions. At first she's all smiles, but as the conversation progresses, the smile drops from her face and she casts several glances my way and at Will before her eyes widen and she flushes, apparently from embarrassment. She spins around and rushes away after, presumably, excusing herself.

Hannibal turns and gestures for us to join him, what I believe to be a satisfied smile on his face. I try not to show my glee that finally, _finally, _Katie lost our seemingly eternal battle for once. When we reach the good doctor, I can't help but show my gratitude.

"You have no idea how long she's been torturing me and Stephanie. Thank you," I sigh.

"Of course," Hannibal answers, making a motion towards the open back door, "as I told you before, we're here for you when you need us."

I beam up at him as all three of us go inside. Alana approaches us immediately, apparently done with the conversation she'd been having on the phone.

"Holly, what happened?" she asks, "I heard you scream…"

As Hannibal explains what happened, I go out front and sit on the porch steps with Will. I'm still shaken up from the encounter out back, so we just sit on the steps in silence while I lay my head on Will's shoulder.

"What did that man mean about the tarot cards?" I ask after a few minutes.

"The murders were set up like tarot cards-death, the hangman, the wheel of fortune. Those were just some of them," Will explains grimly, "they had a couple names for him."

"'Psychic Psycho' is one of them, I'm guessing."

"Yes," he answers, "the other was the Tarot Killer. Both names are…tasteless, not to mention stupid. Whoever made them up is not clever."

Huh, that's funny that my father would choose tarot cards of a things because…

"I think I know what he did with those bits of skin."


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, Will and Hannibal took Holly back to the house. She was exhausted from nightmares that had plagued her the entire night after everything that had happened the day before. She'd had images of devils and cloaked figures running after her, and accusatory men condemning her for crimes she hadn't committed.

Her reddish-brown hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and every few moments she'd brush the stray strands away from her face. Her fingers tapped unsteady rhythms against her thighs and the doorframe. She was restless and nervous and unable to hide it because all her energy was going into just staying awake and not jumping out of her seat.

She'd met a still-skeptical Jack Crawford the night before when he'd introduced her to series of pictures of the families of victim's her father had killed. They'd quickly ascertained that the man from the day before had been Bryan Williams, the older brother of a victim named Nick Williams who'd been turned into the death card.

"Holly," Will called, turning in the front seat as Holly's silvery eyes met his, "it's alright. Nothing is going to hurt you. Bryan Williams is not going to hurt you. We'll be with you every step of the way. Hannibal and I will protect you."

She nodded mutely, hugging herself and nestling further into the backseat. The car was warm, which seemed to set her a little more at ease, and speaking to her seemed to keep her mind off her dark thoughts. Will was worried that if they kept it up much longer, Holly would shut down and even he and Hannibal would be unable to reach her. It certainly seemed that after yesterday she was less willing to do anything other than curl up hugging herself.

They pulled up to the house, and a look of dread passed over her features as she saw the façade, her father's serial killer title practically burning itself into her retinas. Hannibal, noticing that she was still in the car when he and Will had already left, opened her door for her, since she sat on the side closest to him, and offered her his hand. Her hand shook just the slightest bit as she accepted his hand and emerged reluctantly from the car.

Jack Crawford and Alana Bloom approached them, an entire team of scientists setting up and getting ready for whatever Holly had to show them further back. Her steel-colored eyes skimmed over the agents and the four people standing around her, before sweeping over to the convicting red door.

"It doesn't feel like the house I grew up in anymore," she reflected, voice ringing in the cool air.

Alana Bloom couldn't think of anything that would make her feel better, Jack Crawford didn't think it was his place, and Hannibal and Will knew that hadn't been meant to elicit a response. It was only something she'd been musing aloud.

"Are you ready, Miss Kaye?" Crawford asked, wanting to move things along.

Holly nodded, turned, and haltingly began towards the home she'd grown up in, not sure if she hoped she was right or wrong about what her father had done with the patches of skin her father had flayed from the victims.

"My father made all these paintings," she remarked, pointing at the frames on the walls as she led them through the house.

They proceeded straight to the back of the house, to the laundry room, but Holly paused when she noticed the clothes that had been left in the basket, the half washed load of laundry in the washing machine. Will, realizing that it had disturbed her, touched her shoulder, bringing her back to the present and the task at hand. Swallowing and steeling herself, she gestured to the ominous looking door at the back of the laundry room.

"It leads to the basement," she explained.

Will stepped forward, turning the knob with one gloved hand and opening the door for her. She led the way down, feet barely audible on the concrete steps. She turned the overhead light on, scanning the basement she'd only ever been in a handful of times in her entire life.

"Here," she murmured, going over to a shelving unit full of paintings, drawings, and other art supplies.

She pointed at the top shelf, expression apprehensive as Will grabbed a stepladder and climbed up.

"The dust has been disturbed," he called down, pulling down the cardboard box that appeared to have been moved recently.

He placed it on the ground for Holly to search through, knowing that she probably knew what to look for. Jack Crawford handed her a pair of white latex gloves, so that she wouldn't contaminate any evidence. Before she began, she took a deep, rattling breath to fortify herself and looked at Hannibal, who stood back with Alana Bloom. He nodded at her, silently telling her to proceed.

Stomach clenching uneasily, Holly plunged her hands into the box, shifting and removing items and sketches. Will, kneeling on the floor beside her, picked up one of the yellowing drawings, looking it over curiously.

"This is a different style than the others," he observed, handing it off to Alana to analyze.

Hannibal glanced at it. Lovingly drawn in charcoal, was an image of a younger, gleeful Holly. There was a smile on the child-Holly's face as she stared directly out of the paper, an impish grin on her face. There was a flower tucked behind one ear, but what really impressed Hannibal was the way the artist had captured Holly's eyes, the determination, the brazen intelligence.

"My mother drew those," Holly explained hoarsely, barely looking away from her mission, "She was really into art before she died. My father sort of took it up after she died…along with drinking…"

She trailed off as she finally discovered what she was searching for, a wooden box that was built simply, but painted with intricate designs. She pushed the larger cardboard box away, settling cross-legged on the ground as she stared at it pensively. She looked terrified, and she hadn't even opened it yet.

"Holly," Will murmured, touching her wrist lightly, "let me do it."

She allowed him to take the box from her hands, grateful that he'd saved her from having to open it. Slowly, he removed the lid, the velvet blue interior carefully housing an incomplete deck of hand-painted tarot cards. Carefully, he extracted the first card he saw, Death. Nick Williams took the place of the figure that had been used in traditional tarot cards.

"This is it," Will confirmed, looking up at Jack Crawford, "he made tarot cards with the pieces of skin he took and painted them."

Holly's eyes widened in horror, her already fair skin paling further as she swayed slightly. Hannibal knelt by her side and guided her to her feet.

"Let's go back upstairs," he commanded gently, directing her to the stairs.

"Hold on a moment, Doctor Lector," Jack Crawford called, turning to face the two, one of the cards in a gloved hand, "Miss Kaye, do you recognize the face on this card?"

"Jack," Alana called sharply, warningly, but it was too late, Holly had already seen the card.

"Th-that's my mother…"

Suddenly, she shoved Hannibal out of the way to make room as she raced up the stairs. Jack Crawford and Hannibal followed her up the stairs only to find she'd collapsed in the hallway to retch. She carefully slid backwards on her hands and knees, arms barely able to support her. Hannibal helped her to her feet again, his sensitive nose burning as he exchanged glances with Crawford.

"Satisfied now, Jack?" Hannibal asked, displeased but hiding it well.

"Yes," Jack answered regretfully, "get her out of here."

Hannibal helped Holly maneuver around the vomit in the middle of the floor and back through the house.

"I want to brush my teeth," she said, pausing at the bathroom, "give me a moment, please?"

He nodded his understanding, helping her to the sink.

"I'll be back in just a moment. Wait here for me when you're finished," he instructed, leaving her in the bathroom.

He sidestepped the bile in the hallway, planning to speak to Will, who was already halfway up the stairs.

"Hannibal," he said, tone worried, "is Holly okay?"

"She's in the bathroom cleaning herself up. I'm going to have a word with Jack and Alana. Would you get her a washcloth for her head?"

The investigator nodded, moving quickly to do as Hannibal had said while the psychiatrist descended the stairs to see Alana heatedly berating Jack Crawford.

"I told you what would happen if we pushed her, and you just did exactly that. You pushed her too far Jack, and now we'll be lucky if she's even willing to speak with us again," Alana was saying.

"I'm inclined to agree with Doctor Bloom, I'm afraid. Holly was reluctant to come to here today in the first place. She'll be far less disposed to assist you any further in your investigation from here on out-even for something as simple as an interview," Hannibal interposed.

Upstairs, Will had just found a cloth to put on Holly's head when her scream echoed through the house, interrupting both parties. Will was the first to reach her, and was nearly as taken aback by what awaited him. Holly was crying in the middle of a bedroom floor that he assumed had once belonged to her.

Sitting on the end of the bed was the corpse of Katie Becker, bloody and naked. On her head rested a crown of bone, and in her hand, suspended by the bed post, was a human femur. A Roman numeral three was carved into one pale cheek, and a necklace of teeth hung around her neck.

Will knelt by Holly's side, but was unable to take his eyes off the corpse, his mind already flying into gear. This certainly wasn't Stanley Kaye's work. It was like the killer was mocking Katie Becker, humiliating her…as retribution, maybe?

"Get her out of her!" Jack Crawford bellowed when he saw the mess in the room, "Will, Hannibal! Get Holly Kaye out of here!"

Will pulled Holly to her feet and practically carried her out of the room. She was hysterical, no longer able to subdue and control herself. He brought her to the kitchen, where she would be safe from the horrors surrounding her. She held tight to him, sobbing into his shirt, even as he sat them on the ground. He looked up at Hannibal, standing above them with his usual unreadable expression. Will had no idea what to do, he needed Hannibal's help this time.

"Holly," Will tried, rubbing her back as the doctor crouched beside them, "Holly, it's alright. You're alright."

She shook her head, burying her face in the collar of his shirt. Alana appeared in the doorway, taken aback to see Holly clinging to Will the way she was.

"Holly," she called, kneeling down on Will's other side, "Holly, let him go."

When she touched Holly's arm, the girl jerked and drew back like she'd been slapped.

"Don't touch me!" she cried, scrambling back into Hannibal, "D-don't touch me!"

Assessing that her anxiety was only climbing, Hannibal quickly restrained her, pulling her to him so that her arms were trapped between their chests and her legs were folded beneath her own weight. He tucked her head beneath his chin, rocking her.

"Alright, Holly, that's enough," he soothed, stroking her hair, which had come undone sometime during the chaos, "you're upsetting everyone."

She dissolved into tears again, but the edge seemed to have subsided, and, slowly, she calmed. The occasional tremor passed through her body, but otherwise, it seemed the worst of it was over. Alana sat back against the cabinets, completely at a loss as to what Hannibal had done. Will crawled over to them, concern over Holly overpowering his antisocial tendencies for a moment. When she saw him she wiggled an arm free and reached for his hand.

Alana, watching the trio, was suddenly struck by what exactly was happening. Both men felt responsible for Holly, so they'd placed themselves in her life as protectors of some sort, and Holly had allowed them to because they had been with her when her father tried to kill her. They'd saved her life, given her the ultimate reason to trust them, so it only made sense that she would place her faith in Hannibal and Will. The only question now was: would Alana allow this to continue or would she separate them? Could she even separate them?

Hannibal continued rocking Holly gently, shifting positions slightly so that he was more comfortable and she was less restrained, but if she flew into hysteria again, he could get her under control again. Her scent surrounded him, minty, from cleaning herself up, with the hint of the sterile hospital environment that she'd been living in, but the scent of jasmine and roses was strongest. It made his mouth water.

"Whoever did that," Holly choked out after a moment, voice rough, "were they trying to copy my father?"

Will squeezed her hand before speaking.

"Yes," he said, "but it was not your father. Your father is dead."

She nodded, sniffling a little.

"I know," she responded before adding, "that was the empress."

Will leaned closer, interested in the obvious knowledge that she held.

"What does the empress mean, Holly?" he asked.

"It's supposed to signify female power," she explained, "she's supposed to symbolize fertility and sexuality, coming abundance, but whoever did that made it…wrong. The empress is supposed to be watery and mysterious…"

His eyes became far away as his brain started making connections. Whoever had killed Katie Becker was making a point of turning her ugly, as if mocking the beauty she wielded as a weapon. They were trying to make a point that her personality was lacking where her looks were not.

"Holly," Alana spoke up, catching both men's attention.

After her reaction to Alana touching her earlier, they were wary of whatever would happen now. However, despite the slightest tensing of Holly's muscles, she responded normally to the psychiatrist.

"How do you know so much about tarot cards?" Alana inquired as gently as possible.

Holly looked away, moving her legs closer to her stomach defensively.

"My grandmother was a very spiritual person. She was very interested in mysticism and tarot cards in particular. It was something my mother grew up around, so when I was born, I was exposed to it a lot as well. My mother and grandmother, when they were both still alive, taught me about tarots and their meanings."

Will nodded, accepting her explanation easily. At that exact moment, Jack Crawford entered the kitchen, and stared at them all on the floor, perplexed.

"What are you doing?" he asked, frowning.

"Holly was having a moment," Hannibal explained smoothly, bringing them both to their feet, "but now I think it's time that she return back to the hospital to rest, if that's alright."

Jack Crawford looked first at the girl in question, who studied the floor as if her life depended on it, tearstained and flushed. He then looked to Will, who was frowning but, like always, refused to make eye contact. Finally, he considered Alana, who was still visibly angry with him and who silently communicated that, yes, it was time for Holly to leave.

"Go ahead, Doctor Lector," he allowed, stepping out of the way.

Will moved to follow them, but Jack placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"I need you here, Will," the man said while Alana slipped out of the kitchen after Holly and Hannibal.

Alana was quickly trying to make up her mind whether or not it was a good thing that Holly had a connection with the two men, but it was hard to say so early on.

"Hannibal, Holly," she called, quickly catching up with them, "perhaps I should drive Holly back to the hospital."

Holly, still apparently present enough to make her own choices, shook her head mutely, pressing herself into Hannibal's side further.

"I think she's made her preference clear," Hannibal said with finality, "however you're welcome to drive with us, Doctor Bloom."

Before she could say anything to argue, none other than Freddie Lounds came running towards them.

"Holly," she called, "Holly, I'd like to speak with you."

"Hannibal," Holly murmured, glancing up at him.

He nodded and intercepted the reporter before she could get too close to Holly. With Freddie Lounds distracted, the girl slid into the backseat of the car tiredly and waited for the two psychiatrists to join her.

Finally, Alana climbed into the passenger side while Hannibal took the driver's seat, and Holly had strategically chosen to sit behind Alana, where the woman would have trouble reaching her and couldn't speak to her properly without craning her neck. Soon after they pulled away from the house, Holly fell into a much needed, if uneasy, slumber.

Even though I'm exhausted, I can't fall asleep. It's not the woman screaming down the hallway, or the sounds of the nurses shuffling down the corridors that's keeping me awake. It's not even the light seeping between the blinds in my room. It's what I saw today, Katie Becker carefully positioned, from her head to her feet, on the end of my bed, bloody and morbid. It's almost enough to make me forget about my mother being on one of those cards…

I'm about to call the nurses when the door opens, quietly, and I figure it's one of them that thinks I'm asleep, but the click of the lock on the door alerts me that I'm wrong. I open my eyes, wondering who it is that would lock the door. I'm met with Bryan Williams, as angry as he looked yesterday. Immediately going into action as he approaches, I tumble form the bed, landing hard enough that I'm going to bruise, and scramble away.

"Get the hell away from me," I gasp.

"I bet you killed that girl, didn't you," he hisses, and I catch the glint of a knife in the light of a sun beam, "I'm going to make sure you never hurt anyone again."

Before I can scream, he lunges at me, forcing me to throw myself out of harm's way, lest he actually stab me. I crawl towards the bed, reaching for the panic button, but he's up and across the room faster than I anticipated. He draws his leg back, presumably to kick me, so I react on instinct, snapping my leg out into his knee.

There's a sickening popping noise as he falls to the ground, crying out in pain. I manage to get to my feet, but he slashes at me with the knife, hell bent on injuring me, it seems. I stumble back to avoid being cut, slamming into the wall and losing my balance. I pitch into the bed, my ribs catching on the bed railing, but I manage to catch hold of the panic button and jam it down.

"You bitch!" he screams, "You're not leaving this room alive!"

I clumsily sidestep him, and his own momentum throws him into the railing as well, sliding the bed about a foot across the floor. I grab one of the thick hardcover books Alana brought me from the bedside table, swinging wildly, and manage to make contact with his face. He brings the knife up, about to stab me, but I strike again, knocking the blade from his hand, making it skitter across the room. The nurses and orderlies at the door now, trying to get in, but they're having a difficult time with the door locked.

We both dive for the knife as soon as we realize he doesn't have it anymore, wrestling each other to get ahold of it. I manage to get good grip on the handle and stab at him. I feel it catch him somewhere, and something warm and slick begins gushing over my hands. I pull away from him, the knife still in my hand, shocked that I seemed to have just punctured his shoulder.

Right then, the door bursts open, and hospital staff come flooding in. Realizing that he's greatly outnumbered again, Bryan Williams jumps through the window and limps away. Several orderlies run from the room to pursue him, while about four or five nurses give me wary looks. Belatedly, I realize the knife is still in my hand. I drop it the ground in front of me, staring at the blood on my hands dazedly.

"Someone call Alana Bloom and the FBI," one of the nurses, Andy I remember her name is, orders as she comes to my side.

"Were you injured?" she asks.

"I don't think so," I answer, a strange feeling rising in my stomach and chest, "my ribs maybe."

It takes a moment for me to realize it's triumph.

Alana Bloom, Hannibal Lector, Will Graham, and Jack Crawford were sitting in Jack's office, a tense silence filling the room. Alana and Will were outraged at Jack for his behavior at the Kaye house. Hannibal was also a bit peeved at the FBI agent, but with the other two giving him as much backlash as they had, the doctor had decided that he did not need to add on to it. Besides, he had been satisfied to sit back and watch them rather than intervene.

"I understand that you are both concerned for her mental state, but I can't rule out the possibility that she may have helped her father murder people," Jack explained, but it fell on deaf ears.

"I told you, Jack," Alana argued, "she is nothing more than a victim in this. Her reaction to Katie Becker today proved that. She hasn't demonstrated any signs of sociopathic behavior and she doesn't have any of the traits of a psychopath."

"I understand your diagnosis, Doctor Bloom, but-"

At that exact moment, Alana's phone began ringing, simultaneously as one of the secretaries opened Jack's office door.

"Sir, Baltimore Psychiatric called. Bryan Williams tried to kill Holly Kaye."

Will could barely think past the semi-murderous haze clouding his mind all the way to the hospital. Images of Holly bleeding out on the carpet in her own home kept flashing through his head. Didn't they have security measures? What kind of hospital just let people walk in to see traumatized patients? When he pulled up to the hospital, he practically ripped the seatbelt off himself, but Hannibal grabbed hold of his arm, catching his attention.

"Will," the psychiatrist began, "you must try to calm down, for her sake."

"They said he locked himself into her room and tried to stab her," Will answered, voice more uneven than usual with the force of his anger.

"Holly is probably shaken up. She'll be looking to us to be calm in all of this. We can't let her down, not when she's placed her faith in us."

The special investigator begrudgingly agreed, and reigned in his temper with a deep breath. Holly would need him calm and collected when he went in there. More in control of himself, he and Hannibal entered the facility. Once they'd said their names at the check-in desk, they were allowed back to Holly's room.

Both men paused at the scene that greeted them. There was blood on the floor, near a shattered window. The things Alana had brought Holly were strewn about the room, the table they'd resided on flipped on its side. The bed had been shoved askew during the struggle, which was where they found Holly. She had her hands out, palms up, as FBI agent's swabbed blood from her hands and a nurse prodded at her shirtless and darkly bruised torso.

Hannibal recovered first, as if the sight of Holly without her shirt on was nothing unusual. He entered the room after signaling his presence with a knock on the open door. Holly's gunmetal eyes immediately turned to them, a pleased but tired smile pulling her lips up.

"Hannibal, Will," she greeted, "you came."

Hannibal approached the bed as the agents finished taking the samples. Will noticed one of them pick up a hardcover book that Holly pointed to that seemed to have a smear of blood across it.

"Of course," the doctor answered, "we came as soon as we heard what Bryan Williams tried to do to you. Are you alright?"

She shrugged, wincing at the twinge in her shoulder when she did.

"My ribs are bruised up, but I'm okay otherwise-physically at least," she answered, looking around the room with a troubled frown as she finished saying this.

Will stepped further into the room, approaching the bed slowly. Her skin, apart from the dark purple and blue patches, was smooth and unmarked, pale. She had a trim stomach, not necessarily muscular, but healthy. She chewed the inside of her lip as she waited for the nurse to finish up.

"Holly," Will said, sitting beside her on the bed, "I'm so sorry that this happened to you…again."

Her expression dropped and she blinked rapidly, looking at him and then away.

"It's not your fault, Will," she answered, "some supernatural force just really seems to want me dead."

"Nonsense," Hannibal chimed in, holding out a new, not-bloodstained shirt when the nurse left the room, "you've lived this long, haven't you? Surely, if some greater force wanted you dead, it would have succeeded by now."

She couldn't seem to help the smile that curled her lips up as she slowly tugged the shirt over her head.

"I guess," she allowed, "so this is supposed to be some sort of test?"

"Some people of faith might call it that, yes," the doctor replied, sitting down on her other side.

She made a scoffing noise, shaking her head with a sigh.

"Then I don't appreciate their God's examination system," she joked, running a hand through her messy, auburn-tinted hair.

Will wrapped an arm around her shoulders, not knowing for a moment whether he was comforting her or himself. She leaned into him, setting her head on his shoulder like she had the day before. Hannibal watched them, something almost like affection stirring in his chest.

"Holly," Alana said from the doorway.

"Hello Doctor Bloom," Holly greeted politely, though with less pleasure than when she'd greeted Will and Hannibal.

"I'm so sorry that Bryan Williams got in here. The FBI is still trying to figure out how he managed it."

Holly simply nodded, her eyes seeming go right through Alana, as if she wasn't even there.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" the psychiatrist inquired.

Holly recounted the entire event, explaining to them, like she had to the police officers and FBI agents how the struggle had progressed. Even though her eyes became distant, her voice didn't waiver as she told her story.

"How did you feel when you stabbed him, Holly?" Alana asked.

Holly frowned, twisting the edge of the sheets in her hand.

"I felt…relieved, at first," she answered, "and when he jumped out the window, I felt like I'd won. But now…every time someone is at the door, I'm worried it's him. I only stabbed him in shoulder, so I think he survived. I keep waiting for him to come back and finish what he started."

Will felt a fresh wave of fury hit him, but he was careful not to let it echo in his body language. Holly would be able to sense it and it would just make her more uneasy than she was.

"Holly, would you excuse Doctor Bloom and me for a moment," Hannibal requested, getting to his feet."

Holly nodded as the two left the room. In the hall, just beside the door, Hannibal considered Alana.

"She cannot stay here," he pointed out, "not after this."

"I agree, but where would you have her go?" Alana demanded, "With you? With Will?"

"I don't see why not," he replied reasonably, shrugging, "she'll be safe with either of us, and more importantly she'll _feel _safe. After what happened here today, she's going to be insecure, no matter what security procedures the FBI implement."

Alana frowned, crossing her arms.

"Then maybe she should stay with me," she answered, "She's my patient."

"Exactly," Hannibal replied, "and so she'll view you as her doctor. She'll feel that she's constantly under scrutiny and she'll be less inclined to open up to you. She should be with someone she trusts, that she views as a friend, who can protect her."

Alana didn't like it. She wanted to interpose herself between Holly and the two men, but she felt helpless to do so, especially when her colleague made such a good point. Holly only really seemed to trust Hannibal and Will.

"Fine," she allowed after consideration, "she can stay with you, since Will is away too often. I want updates on her progress though, and you can't allow her to isolate herself. She has to socialize."

Hannibal, satisfied that he'd won, nodded his consent to her conditions. Together, they returned to the room, only to find that Holly had fallen asleep against Will's chest, with her arms wrapped around his waist. The investigator turned to them as they entered the room again, suddenly looking very awkward to be caught with her snuggled up to him.

"She, uh, dozed off while we were talking. I don't think she's been sleeping well," he explained, glancing down at her.

Hannibal allowed a little half smile on his face as he approached the bed again. Holly had an endearing sort of quality to her. She was careful not to offend people at all costs it seemed, but she was helpless to her own preferences at the same time. There was a childlike characteristic in her reliance on Will and Hannibal, but she'd proven both today and when her father tried to kill her, that she had a strong survival instinct. Perhaps that was why she was so willing to allow them to protect her-she instinctively knew who the wolves among the sheep were.


	4. Chapter 4

"Where's Holly?" Will asked as he entered Hannibal's living room.

"In the kitchen," the doctor answered, "making cookies, I believe."

Will gave him a curious look as he considered the psychiatrist's impeccable home. Apart from the female coat hanging up and the romance novel on the arm of the couch, it was almost impossible to tell that Holly had been living with Hannibal for a few weeks. There was soft, but lively, early 1900's music faintly coming from the direction of the kitchen, as well as light, feminine humming.

"You let her cook?" Will inquired incredulously, "In _your_ kitchen?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" the doctor returned innocently.

"For you, yes."

Hannibal smiled at the investigator's dry humor, resting his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

"I told her you were coming today and she asked if she could make cookies. She was so excited, I couldn't say no," he explained, shrugging.

"How's she doing?" Will asked in a more serious tone as they slowly began towards the kitchen.

"Well, I believe," Hannibal replied, pleased, "she's in a good mood today, if you can't tell. The nightmares come and go. When she gets them I often find her in the kitchen."

They paused in the doorway, unnoticed by her as she mixed something in a stainless steel bowl. She certainly looked better since Will had seen her a week ago. Her hair was twisted up into a bun, the stray pieces that always fell in her face were clipped back with bobby pins. A cottony knee length, white summer dresses, patterned with watercolor roses drifted a couple inches from her knees as she hummed along to Frank Sinatra.

The dark circles under her eyes were almost gone and her skin, though still fair, retained a healthy flush. There was a bit of flour dusting the front portion of her hair, probably a careless mistake. Her expression was focused, but not serious as she paused what she was doing to wipe her hands on a checkerboard patterned apron, making a contemplative sound before travelling towards one of the cabinets.

"Hannibal," she called as she turned towards the doorway and stopped when she noticed both men already there, "oh, I didn't see you. Where are the cookie sheets?"

"I'll get them for you," he offered, entering the kitchen.

"Thank you," Holly chimed before smiling at Will, "hello Will!"

She crossed the kitchen to give him a warm, much needed hug. He was unprepared for it, though it was not entirely unwelcome. She beamed up at him, and the sheer force of her smile nearly knocked the wind out of him.

"You made cookies?" he asked, unable to think of anything better to say.

"Correction," she answered, holding up a finger, "I'm _making_ cookies, but I don't know what kind you like, so you have the choice of chocolate chip, peanut butter, or oatmeal raisin."

Will blinked twice. The light in her platinum eyes was too bright for him to deny her altogether, even though he didn't often eat sweets. He could bear it just this one time, especially if it made Holly continue to smile the way she was.

"Um, is peanut butter-chocolate chip not an option?" he inquired and she laughed, going back into the kitchen as Hannibal set the cookie sheets out for her on the counter.

"Peanut butter-chocolate chip it is, then," she decided, "how does that sound Hannibal?"

"It sounds delicious," he answered, smiling at her as drifted to the pantry.

Suddenly, Holly groaned in dismay, her head was tipped back, staring up at the second highest shelf which was a considerable distance from the ground and certainly out of her reach.

"Hannibal," she complained, "why must you put the things I need where I can't reach them?"

Will chuckled as the doctor eased by the shorter girl, reaching for the jar of peanut butter and the bag of chocolate chips with ease. So close to her, Hannibal could easily make out the smell of roses and jasmine past the flour and sugar.

"You forget, I put these here because you ate most of the first bag of chocolate chips," he answered, handing the items to her with a knowing look.

She made a scoffing noise, an innocent expression on her face.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she bluffed, "thank you for getting these for me, since you seem to be discriminating against the short person of the house."

The smile returned to Will's face at their lighthearted banter. As she returned to the bowl of cookie dough, Holly picked up the lyrics to "In the Way You Look Tonight" flawlessly as she measured out ingredients. Her voice was smooth and clear, more of an alto than a soprano. It was an interesting touch to the usually cold, indifferent kitchen.

"You have good taste in music," Will commented offhandedly as he drifted closer.

She grinned at him as she began mixing again, popping a couple chocolate chips in her mouth as she did.

"Thank you. My mother really enjoyed this type of music," she chirped, "Hannibal prefers classical music but I think words add life to the music."

As she put the cookies on the sheets, the three of them chatted idly. Will noticed a definite difference in Holly's behavior from when they'd first met. She was naturally soft-spoken, but not necessarily shy, she simply spoke only when she had something to say. She was polite, friendly, she didn't push him when he didn't want to talk about something, and she followed his social cues well.

As she put the cookies in the oven, they took their conversation to Hannibal's office. Holly immediately climbed up the ladder, replacing a novel on one of the shelves as she began searching for a new one.

"Alana will be coming over for dinner is well," Hannibal mentioned nonchalantly, and Will noticed Holly pause, fingertips perched on the spine of a novel.

"You didn't tell me on purpose, didn't you?" she guessed, turning and bracing her arms on the railing.

"I knew that you would be anxious about it if I told you earlier. I rightly assumed that telling you Will was coming would be enough," the doctor replied casually, looking up at her with his hands in his pockets.

Will raised his eyebrows. Clearly, the two had been through this before. It struck him suddenly that Holly and Hannibal had grown rather close while he'd been forced to a distance by his work for the FBI. He wasn't exactly jealous, but he did have a feeling of loss in his chest.

"Yes, and I would have been anxious for a good reason," Holly argued, propping her chin up with her hand, "I always feel like she's interrogating me or something, and she treats me like a child."

"You don't like Alana, Holly?" Will questioned.

He would have thought that the two girls would get along like sisters. It appeared he'd been wrong.

"It's not that I don't like her…" Holly said, ash eyes drifting away as she trailed off.

"Holly believes Alana keeps the wrong company," Hannibal explained.

"That's not right either," Holly corrected with a sigh, shaking her head, and the strands of hair she'd restrained fell loose, "you make it sound so terrible."

Will anchored his hands in his back pockets, grinning at how, even without Alana in the room, Holly didn't want to be offensive.

"Tell Will how you described her," Hannibal invited, an amused smirk on his face.

"She's like…a lamb," she began reluctantly, "that enjoys playing among the wolves.

"You think of Alana as a lamb?" Will asked, brows pulling together.

Holly sighed resting her head on her arm on the railing.

"I know it doesn't make sense," she admitted, "but in my mind that's how I imagine her."

"And you imagine us as wolves," Hannibal finished logically.

She straightened again, nodding.

"Yes, you and Will and Jack Crawford."

"Wolves?" Will inquired, frowning.

"It's not meant in any negative connotation," she explained casually, "like Alana, it's just the way I see you in my mind."

Hannibal took a few steps towards the ladder.

"Come down from there," he invited, making a "come here" gesture, "don't be angry that I invited Alana without telling you."

With a dubious look, she complied, carefully descending and taking his proffered hand when she was close to the ground. She gave the doctor a questioning look, silvery gaze going back and forth between the two men.

"How do you see yourself, in your mind?" Hannibal inquired, pulling the pins from her hair.

Her gaze became far away as she considered the question.

"I don't know," she murmured thoughtfully, "perhaps like some sort of wild dog that's happened upon the lamb and wolves.

Will gravitated closer, surprised that they'd been imagining her similarly. Hannibal brushed the flour from her hair, making a little white cloud go up around them. She blinked, come back to herself as the timer in the kitchen went off.

"The cookies are ready," she observed, flitting away to kitchen.

Left in the office together, Will and Hannibal considered each other in silence for a moment.

"Wolves, huh?" Will reflected, eyes drifting around the office, "that's an interesting perspective, from someone whose father could be considered a wolf as well."

"I believe she's disowned her father. She speaks of him distantly now, rather than with any type of familiarity. However, it would stand to reason that she would view him as a wild dog like herself," Hannibal conjectured.

"I would rather her view _herself _as wolf," the other admitted, settling on the couch, "How has Holly been acting? Around you, I mean."

The doctor shrugged, settling his hand on the back of the patient's chair.

"She treats me the same as you," he answered, "however, I have noticed a distinct difference in her behavior towards us versus others. Alana was right about her. It's hard to earn her trust, but once someone has, she's unfailingly loyal to them."

Will's eyes got far away as he processed this.

"She doesn't trust Alana," he stated.

"No, she doesn't, because Alana treats her as if she is still a victim. Holly wants to move forward and deal with problems as they come along quickly and efficiently, but Alana wants her to face her problems head on and in bulk. It makes Holly feel trapped, like she doesn't know herself, and she naturally doesn't trust someone who makes her question herself."

Will shifted, considering this new bit of insight.

"How do you think her…headspace is?" he asked carefully.

"Only she could tell you that," Hannibal answered lightly, "and I'm sure if you asked, she'd tell you."

A stab of guilt suddenly pierced through the FBI investigator when Holly appeared in the doorway, completely oblivious to the fact that both men had just been discussing her. Alana wasn't the only one still treating her like a victim it seemed.

"The cookies are finished and I placed them on a cooling rack. I cleaned up where I'd been working, so the kitchen is ready for you whenever you start dinner, Hannibal."

"Then I shall go begin preparations," he replied, smiling at her, "I'll see you two in a moment."

With that, Hannibal vacated the office, and Holly and Will were left alone together.

"It's nice to see you again, Will," she repeated, smiling and joining him on the couch, "you've been so busy with work I haven't seen you much."

"Yes," Will agreed, rubbing his eyes, "I've meant to visit more often, but Jack Crawford has me running around like a madman."

She suddenly seemed concerned, leaning a little closer, gunmetal eyes searching his face.

"Are you alright, Will?" she inquired, "I know that things aren't easy for you, with the work you do, but are you less alright than usual?"

He hesitated to dump his problems on her, considering everything she'd been through, but the urge to tell her compelled him to be honest.

"I'm...struggling with everything I've seen," he admitted, "it's getting hard to use this gift or whatever it is. I can't sleep without nightmares, I'm sleepwalking, and I have vivid visions in the middle of day…"

She carefully folded a leg under herself, setting her hands in her lap to hold her dress down.

"I'm no psychiatrist, but maybe you could…make a place, in your mind," she suggested.

His brows drew together.

"A place?" he questioned.

She tapped her temple.

"Yes, like a…happy place, you could call it. A place where it's quiet, safe. You can go there when things get too stormy everywhere else," she explained.

"A happy place," he repeated contemplatively, a sort of half smile pulling at the corner of his mouth for the way she described it, "What would you suggest as a happy place, Holly?"

She shrugged.

"It could be anywhere you want it to be, with whatever and whoever you want there. Somewhere you feel safe, and like yourself," she replied, "mine is by a fireplace in winter, with music playing and a book in my lap."

He made a humming sound, considering this.

"Any fireplace in particular you're sitting by?" he wondered.

"No, not really, and I'm never alone. There's usually a dog or two and someone I love and trust sitting in a chair behind me."

His eyes glazed over as he imagined the scenario in his head. It had a warm, cozy feeling, like laughter at dinner tables and opening presents by Christmas trees; falling asleep on the couch because everyone was too lazy to go to bed.

"That sounds...peaceful," he commented as he came back to reality.

"It is," she answered, and her smile was warm and gentle and it made something white-hot ignite in his stomach and travel into his chest, "so maybe you can try making yourself a place like that in your head and it might be easier to deal with everything you've seen."

At that moment, the doorbell echoed through the house and Holly hopped to her feet.

"That's probably Doctor Bloom," she noted, "would you like to come with me?"

"Sure," he answered, standing as well and following her as she padded barefoot through Hannibal's house to the front door.

"I've got the door, Hannibal," Holly called as she passed the kitchen.

When she opened the door, there was a pleasant smile on her face.

"Doctor Bloom," she greeted, "welcome."


	5. Chapter 5

"Doctor Bloom believes you're not being socialized enough," Hannibal told Holly as they ate breakfast one morning.

She snorted so softly it was barely audible, but Hannibal heard it nevertheless and raised his eyebrows. It had been a couple months since she'd begun living with him, and more often than not they could have an entire conversation without her even saying a word. She was very expressive, Hannibal had noticed, and he enjoyed watching her thoughts and feelings playing across her soft features-even if she was a bit saucy at times.

"I happen to agree with her," he added matter-of-factly.

"Of all things that you two agree about…" she sighed.

He couldn't help the smirk at the corner of his lips as he continued.

"I can count on one hand the number of times you've left the house for more than an hour or so."

The ash-grey eyes he enjoyed looking at so much flicked away, to the table setting as she listened to him in silence.

"Holly," Hannibal began, "I know that you are not lacking in friends, nor in the ability to make friends. Why are you so apprehensive to leave the house and socialize?"

She took a sip of the coffee he'd brewed especially for her, since he usually preferred tea. He recognized that she was stalling, but didn't call her on it. He knew that if he did, she would make a face at him and site an excuse that they both knew was untrue. She licked her lips before speaking, drawing his attention to her mouth when she did.

"Will told me that the FBI still hasn't found Bryan Williams," she started, "I keeping imagining scenarios of running into him on the street, or in a shop."

Hannibal set down his fork and knife, giving her a steady look that she couldn't hold for longer than a few moments.

"We've discussed this before," he reminded her, "what if they never find him? You can't live your entire life in fear of Bryan Williams, or he fulfills his desire to scare you into submission."

She frowned, resting her hands in her lap, eyes returning to him.

"I know," she murmured, "but that's not it…"

At his expectant expression, she continued.

"My friends keep bringing up my father, but I don't want to talk about it. I know they mean well but…"

She trailed off, expression dropping and he could see that she hadn't slept well again. It seemed her nightmares came and went in accordance with her sessions with Alana.

"Then you simply need to make them aware that you wish to move on," Hannibal advised, making a mental note to speak about her nightmares later, "I'm sure that if they are truly your friends, they will respect your wishes."

She nodded, finally picking up her fork to finish eating.

"You're under-socialized," he repeated and she sent him a look from beneath her lashes that said "I heard you the first time".

"Which is why you will be attending the ballet with me in two days."

Holly froze, fork halfway to her mouth, blinking her ash-grey eyes at him as she processed this.

"We are?" she asked stupidly, obviously too stunned to say anything else.

"Yes," he confirmed, smiling at her shock, "and I've invited your friend Stephanie to accompany you to some dress shops in town for a proper evening gown and accessories tomorrow."

She visibly paled, running a hand through her hair absent-mindedly.

"Hannibal, I don't think I can afford-"

"Never mind that," he interrupted holding up a hand, "I'll be paying for it since it was my idea."

She opened her mouth, clearly struggling to find something to say.

"Hannibal…" whatever she was going to say seemed to die on her tongue before a smile broke out on her face, "thank you."

She shook her head, brushing stray strands of hair from her face.

"You're quite welcome," he answered graciously, tipping his head towards her.

As they finished breakfast, Hannibal helped her take the dishes to the kitchen, where she began cleaning. They'd had many discussions (arguments that hardly constituted as arguments) about her washing the dishes, but she refused to let him cook _and _clean, especially since he was allowing her to stay in his home rather than a hospital, so after their meals, it was always her that did the dishes.

As she began scrubbing them down, Hannibal wiped down the counters and stove. It was mostly quiet, apart from Holly's low humming. Most of the times that they were in each other's company it was quiet, but they did regularly debate about any number of topics. She'd commented early on that he was a hard man to know, to which he'd replied with "does anyone really know anyone" and she'd then wittily pointed out that he was a psychiatrist.

Holly was a bright woman, Hannibal had determined. She had a peculiar sort of intelligence, able to retain a surprising number of detail and add that knowledge to big ideas in a way that made sense. She also had natural intuition that had proven to be quite useful already. She simply appeared to "sense" her way through life, seemingly without rhyme or reason, which he'd oddly come to admire.

Hannibal was enjoying listening to her hum when Holly suddenly yipped and the sound of something dropping in the sink alarmed him. He turned, his mind suddenly going to the great improbability that someone had gotten into the house and was threatening her, but luckily no, she was biting her lip and holding her hand close to her stomach. As he figured out what was happening, she tore a paper towel from the role on the counter and pressed it her bleeding hand.

"I cut myself," she explained, sucking air between her teeth in pain, "a blade was pointing up and I didn't see it. I reached for something and slid my hand across it."

He ventured closer, the scent of her blood filling his nose. It had a tangy, sweet sort of scent to it. He'd encountered it before, in her home, but at that time her particular fragrance had been diluted by her father's. Now, in the comfort of the kitchen, the scent of her skin and her blood made a heady combination that made his mouth water.

"Let me take a look," he demanded.

She gave him her hand, gripping onto the counter behind her as he brought her hand closer for inspection. It appeared she'd cut through the meaty part, on left side of her left hand, where her pinky finger was. It was hard to tell how deep it was, though, because blood was quickly welling to the surface, obstructing his view.

He brought her hand his mouth, his tongue tracing along the wound. Her breath audibly caught when he did this, but if it was from pain, surprise, pleasure, or some combination thereof, he wasn't sure yet. Her blood had a distinct sort of tang to it, and just a hint of sweetness. With the injury clear of blood for a moment he saw that she had, in fact, cut her hand rather deeply.

"What are we going to do with you?" he wondered with a sigh as he pressed the paper towel to her hand again.

She was staring up at him, wide-eyed, mouth slightly parted. He searched her expression carefully, looking for any sort of fear or disgust, but she mostly just looked astounded.

"You..." she looked back and forth between him and her hand.

"Come with me and we'll get you cleaned up," he directed, leading her to the bathroom.

Holly jumped up on the counter, resting her hand in her lap with the paper towel to absorb blood as he collected the necessarily tools he'd need to treat her.

"I have something to tell you, Holly, and I need you to listen to me carefully as I tell you," he said after a few moments of silence, "it's going to shock you, and possibly even appall you, but please allow me to finish before you react."

Holly perched lightly on the edge of Hannibal's office desk. His last patient of the day had left and now they were going to eat dinner together. He'd told her everything (or almost everything, at any rate) that morning. He was the Chesapeake Ripper, a semi-famous serial killer that had eluded the FBI for years. If that wasn't enough, he was also a cannibal, and had been feeding her and the others that he'd invited to dinner human flesh.

Her mind had been running around the idea all day, trying to wrap her head around the concept that Hannibal Lector, _her Hannibal Lector, _was a serial murderer. It was a hard pill to swallow, but with as much time as she'd had to think it over she'd come to terms with it…sort of.

Hannibal was not a psychopath, nor was he a sociopath. He was something else, something without a name, and whatever he was, he'd still chosen to save her life when he could have let her die. He hadn't done anything to make her believe he wanted to harm her in any way, and he'd told her while he was sewing up her hand in the bathroom that he did not plan to kill her.

Holly wasn't stupid. She knew that his "planning not to kill her" would immediately change if he felt he was in danger of having his secret exposed. That being said, it appeared her assessment of him as a wolf had been more accurate than she'd realized up until that point. The final verdict: she would keep his secret, continue to live with him and eat the person food, and…more tentatively now, maintain her faith in him.

"How did you come to this conclusion?" he asked as he scribbled something in a notebook when she told him

"It seems like the best choice," she answered truthfully, "knowing now that you're a serial killer and a cannibal does not change the fact that you've been one this whole time, so I'm in no more danger than I was before. Aside from that, my self-preservation instincts tell me that staying with you is the best option."

He glanced up at her, reading her expression. There was no deceit, no fear or hatred. Perhaps there was wariness, but that was understandable considering he'd been rather abrupt about telling her. It was an uncharacteristically impulsive decision on his part, but he'd been considering, in some way or another, telling her for the past two weeks.

"Does this make me a sociopath?" she asked, looking at him and fiddling with a pen, "I don't really mind everything that you've told me, I'm just struggling to get used to the idea."

He considered her for a moment, before answering.

"You're not a sociopath, Holly. You've been given information that most other people would find disturbing. You're handling it well, you just need time to adjust. Considering everything you've been through, finding out what I am this way is less disturbing than if it had happened any other way."

She nodded, setting the pen down as he got to his feet and closed the notebook with finality.

"Come," he said, giving her the smile she'd grown used to seeing, "I'll make you snack while you wait for dinner to be ready."

It's strange to being going out in public after what Hannibal told me. It honestly came as a shock, to find out what he was, but after sleeping on it, I'm less astounded than I was yesterday. I mean, yes, it's pretty terrifying, at first, to realize that the man I've been living with is a serial killer, but it's not as it's something that began recently. I figure if he hasn't killed me yet, he's not lying when he says he doesn't plan to. Beside, even if I tried to reveal him, he'd end up offing me anyway and probably less pleasantly for betraying his trust.

Before I'd left this morning, he'd reassured me about by Bryan Williams, reminding me that I had managed to fight him off once and left him in worse condition than he'd left me.

"Besides," he'd added with a humor, "he's already on the menu. If he tries to-or succeeds-in killing you, your soul can rest assured that I will returned the favor to him tenfold."

I don't know whether it's comforting or scary, since I have a feeling that it wasn't entirely a joke, but nevertheless I'm not as worried about dress shopping now. I suppose it's a good thing that I agreed to keep Hannibal's secret, because at least I know that I have him there for protection. There's something reassuring about knowing I have a seasoned murderer on my side.

"So, you get your butt kicked in a hospital and you get to live with a hot, older guy that takes you to high society events," Steph muses as she drives us towards some shops in town, "how does that work out?"

I laugh at her envious tone, glancing out the window at the passing people on the sidewalks.

"I guess I'm just lucky," I answer sarcastically, making her chuckle as well.

"Okay, good point," she allows, "I think some good fortune is overdue for you."

"And the 'high society' event is because he and my psychiatrist think I don't get out enough," I add, rolling my eyes.

Of course, they're right, but it's not like I'm going to admit that. My pride wouldn't allow it.

"You _don't _get out enough," Steph replies, giggling, "you're practically a hermit. Although if I got to live with a guy that looks like Doctor Lector, I would be too."

My mouth drops open, an indignant sound making its way from my throat as I hit her arm playfully.

"Shut up!" I squeal, making her laugh even harder than she already was, "It's not like that!"

"Sure, sure," she agrees skeptically, giving me a knowing look, "that's what they all say."

"Seriously, shut up!" I giggle as she pulls into a spot by the sidewalk, "Look, maybe if you'd spent more time on your parallel parking skills rather than your bad jokes, the car wouldn't be crooked."

"My jokes are not bad" she cries defensively as we get out, "and it's not that crooked."

We consider her poor parking thoughtfully before I turn to her, expression mock serious.

"It's pretty bad."

"It's not that bad!"

Hannibal glanced up from dish he was working on when he heard the front door close.

"It's me, Hannibal," Holly called.

She was later then he'd originally anticipated, but she'd called a couple hours before lunch, telling him that she and Stephanie were still shopping and were going to eat in town, but she would be home for dinner. True to her word, he'd was only half finished cooking dinner when she returned home.

"I'm in the kitchen," he answered.

"Let me just put my things in my room and I'll be there in a sec."

She certainly seemed to be in good spirits, and when she came into the kitchen, she afforded him a cheerful smile

"How was your day?" she inquired, nibbling on the slice of bread he handed her and leaning against the counter, out of his way.

"Uneventful," he replied, returning her smile, "how did you enjoy shopping with Stephanie?"

"Oh, it was so fun," she gushed, grin widening, "I think we scared the woman in the dress shop though."

He cast her a curious look as he began slicing vegetables.

"How so?" he inquired.

Her silvery eyes travelled away, a secretive look on her face.

"Well, Stephanie and I are bit wild when we're around each other…" she left it at that, venturing closer to steal a few bits from the cutting board while his back was turned.

Catching her in the act, he lightly slapped the back of her hand, making her draw back but not without a few pieces of food. She grinned sheepishly, fleeing back to her little free space in the kitchen.

"You're going to spoil your dinner," he warned, "which would be incredibly rude."

She waved a hand dismissively. Holly was well aware of his pension for killing-and eating-the rude. However, she figured she had just the slightest bit of leeway since she was generally well-mannered.

"It's only rude if I'm too full to eat," she argued, "and I promise you I'll be starving by the time dinner is ready."

"I'll hold you to that," he threatened good-naturedly before changing the subject, "I can't decide whether you're avoiding the topic of cannibalism, or if you're simply hesitant to bring it up. If it's the latter, I assure you I will be happy to answer any questions you have."

She looked contemplative for a moment.

"I wasn't avoiding it," Holly explained, "I just wasn't sure what to say. I have questions but I don't want to offend you."

"Nonsense," he answered, giving her an encouraging smile, "it's usually only offensive if the intention is there, or one is simply oblivious. You're very careful about the things you say to people, Holly. I know you would never purposefully attempt to insult me."

She looked legitimately relieved when he said this. Had that been the reason for her seeming shyness around him? She been worried about offending him the entire time?

"Does Will know what you are?" Holly inquired.

"Yes," he answered, "he and I have an agreement. He provides the FBI with false information of me and keeps them from getting too close to the truth, and I help him maintain his headspace and advise the FBI against institutionalizing him."

She looked fascinated by this new bit of information, but also like she'd dodged a bullet.

"I'm so glad," she sighed, "I was afraid about being caught between you two."

He gave her an easy smile, having known the entire time that her loyalty would have been torn between the two had he and Will been in a different situation. He wondered, briefly, who Holly would have chosen had it been between him and Will. While Hannibal and Holly were close with one another, and living together had developed a close relationship between them, she still fostered strong allegiance towards Will as well. He quickly banished those thoughts, however. There was no use wondering.

"No need for such fears. What else are you curious about?"

"Did you kill Katie?" she asked, wiping her hands off on a paper towel.

She winced when she pulled at the expertly placed stitches holding the knife wound together. She glanced up when he remained silent for several moments, clearly deliberating his answer.

"Why do you ask?" he replied, wiping his hands on his apron.

"I was wondering, since she turned up dead the day directly _after _she showed up at the house calling me a murderer and flirting with you when you went to talk to her," Holly explained nonchalantly, shrugging, "I was just guessing."

"A good guess," Hannibal praised, "you're right. I did kill Katlyn Becker. "

She was quiet, chewing on the inside of her lip.

"Does it change you view of me," he questioned curiously, "that I killed someone you know?"

She shook her head, pulling her hair away from her face.

"No. She was no friend of mine, I just wanted to know if it was you," she admitted.

Hannibal watched her expression, knowing that if she was lying, her features would betray her. She wasn't lying, but she did look pensive, probably try to decide how she felt about knowing them man that killed a woman that had caused her such turmoil for most of her life.

"You're not a sociopath," Hannibal insisted, looking her in the eye, "I'd say you're simply...well adjusted."


	6. Chapter 6

Holly's gunmetal eyes considered herself in the full length mirror Hannibal had provided in her room. The dress was made of a soft material, a bit heavy on her frame, but it would keep her warm if she got cold, and cool if she got overheated. It was a deep, navy blue, with a brooch across the left hip, in line with a thigh-high slit in the skirt, revealing one leg. The right shoulder strap was jewel encrusted, with a cloth off-shoulder strip on the same arm. The shoulder on the left side was simply cloth, but it allowed her to pull all her hair to that side, hiding the scar her father had so kindly left her with.

The eye makeup was dark and dramatic, contrasting nicely with her light eyes, and the lipstick was light so as not to distract from the dress. Her jewelry was simple, a pair of dangling silver earrings and a silver cuff. The heels she was wearing were also silver, made of a shimmery material, and were a challenge to walk up or down stairs in, so she held them in one hand as she descended the stairs.

"Hannibal?" she called as she reached the bottom.

"Just a moment," he answered from upstairs.

Taking the opportunity, she sat on the stairs and put her shoes on, somehow managing to stand on her own. They weren't uncomfortable-at least not yet-but they were higher than what she'd been wearing recently, so she was out of practice. She practiced walking a little as she dropped her phone, some cash, her lipstick, and powder in a small silver clutch.

Footsteps on the stairs alerted Holly and she stared, in awe, as Hannibal appeared in a classic tuxedo, bowtie and all. His hair was as meticulously combed back as usual, and he flashed a warm smile as he reached her. She could smell his cologne, not strong at all. In fact, it was just faint enough that she wanted to lean closer to smell it better.

"You look absolutely stunning," he complimented, snapping her out of her stupor, "although…the dress doesn't seem to fit right…"

"Oh," she remembered, shaking her head slightly to clear it, "would you zip it for me? I couldn't reach."

"Ah," he voiced his understanding, "now I see. Of course."

His fingers brushed over her spine lightly as he reached for the zipper. He didn't miss the little shiver that passed through her or the small intake of breath that the action earned him. With the dress properly on now, when she turned, he realized that he had not been mistaken to allow her to pick her own dress. It was appropriate, classy, daringly bordering on risqué, but it looked lovely on her.

"Like I said," he repeated, "you look absolutely stunning."

A smile lit up Holly's face at the praise, as she brushed a stray curl from her face, revealing the light flush staining her cheeks. Even in the heels she was slightly short than him, but when she looked in his eyes now, at least they were more evenly matched.

"Thank you, very much," she answered, "you looked very handsome as well."

He offered her his arm, turning towards the door.

"Shall we go, then?" he asked.

"We shall," she replied humorously, accepting his arm and allowing him to lead her.

The performance was spectacular. Holly had never seen anything like it before. The dancers were graceful and elegant, sure in their movements. They danced the Nutcracker, with a full orchestra in the pit, and she sat forward in her seat nearly the entire time. When they called for intermission, she suddenly looked apprehensive. Hannibal, noticing her anxiety, rested a hand on hers in reassurance before getting to his feet.

"Come," he said, "let's get something to drink and socialize. That's what we came here to do, after all."

She took his hand, shakily getting to her feet with a calming breath.

"I have no idea how to speak to these people," she admitted, "I don't know what to say or how to act."

"Nonsense," he replied pleasantly as he led her from the aisle, "you and I have conversations all the time."

She gave him a look, but her eyes were losing some of their edge.

"I can't talk to them about the same topics we do," she pointed out, holding onto his arm tighter than necessary as they left the theater room for the venue floor.

"Perhaps not, but I have faith in your ability to converse with others."

He took two flutes of champagne from a passing tray and handed one to her.

"Normally I wouldn't condone drinking as a sedative, but I'm here to supervise you and it should take the edge off your nerves," he explained.

She gave him an uncertain look before taking the tiniest of sips.

"Thank you," she murmured, holding it one hand and considering the crowd of people dubiously.

"Hannibal!" someone called to them suddenly, nearly making Holly jump out of her skin.

Hannibal turned, a smile already on his face. The woman that approached them was much older than Holly, with dark hair cut in a bob. A red spaghetti strap dress shown bright under the chandeliers hanging overhead. Her makeup was dramatic, very much matching the dress and the salutation.

"Ah, Deborah, you surprised me," he greeted, "I didn't expect to see you here, considering this isn't an opera."

"Yes, but it's showing for one night only," Deborah answered, "I _had _to come see it."

Holly's head snapped to look at Hannibal. She knew that the tickets couldn't have been cheap, especially considering how nice their seats were, but knowing now that the performance was for one night only…

"As I should have guessed," Hannibal conceded, pretending he didn't notice the accusing look on Holly's face, "it's a pleasure to see you again nonetheless."

"And you as well, Hannibal," she answered and then turned her dark gaze on Holly, "and who is this fine, young thing on your arm?"

Holly turned her gaze from Hannibal, smiling at Deborah as charmingly as she could.

"This is my date this evening, Holly. Holly, this is Deborah Komeda, an old friend of mine," Hannibal introduced, gesturing with his champagne glass in hand.

"Nice to meet you," Holly chimed sweetly, holding out a hand.

Deborah took it, looking like she was almost impressed.

"You too," the older woman answered, "Hannibal, why is it that I haven't met Miss Holly before now?"

She sounded as if she was trying to catch the man for doing something he wasn't supposed to. It amused Holly because it was clear there was a great deal the woman didn't know about him.

"That would be because Holly and I met each other a rather short time ago. September, wasn't it, Holly?"

Ah, he was forcing her to stay in the conversation so that she couldn't just sit back and watch. Socializing, indeed.

"Yes, it was September," she confirmed, smile still in place.

Deborah gave them both curious looks, taking a step closer to Holly.

"You've known her such a short time, Hannibal, and yet you're bringing her on dates to the theater," she remarked, "you know, now that I get a better look at you Holly, you seem fairly young. Shouldn't you have had classes in September?"

Holly was getting uncomfortable, completely paranoid that Deborah would recognize her name or face.

"Actually I finished school before last summer," Holly answered.

"Oh, and what were you studying to become?" Deborah inquired.

"A social worker," the younger girl explained, words coming easier now that they were on a subject she was comfortable with.

"Does that make good money?" Deborah's male companion, who would apparently remain nameless, asked.

"Um," Holly started, "I believe so. I didn't really want to become one for the salary, but I've been told that the pay is fairly good."

She leaned into Hannibal's side, hoping that they'd be able to go back into the theater soon. The irony of someone trying to become a social worker who was so uncomfortable socializing anymore was not lost on her. It was just that after everything that had happened, in such a sophisticated environment, she was out of her element.

"We should be returning to our seats now," Hannibal interjected smoothly, smiling, "you'll have all the time in the world to interrogate my date later, Deborah. Please excuse us."

"We'll see you later," Holly said as they departed

While he steered her back to the theater, Holly let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding, her shoulders dropping as she relaxed.

"That wasn't so terrible, was it?" Hannibal joked.

"I believe the FBI would have asked fewer questions," she returned primly, settling into her seat smoothly.

"It bothers her that she knows so little about me apart from what I've shown her," he answered, settling into his previous seat beside her.

"No one knows anything about you apart from what you choose to show them, Hannibal," Holly replied easily, "that's what's so brilliant about you. Someone could know you for years, think they understand everything about you, when you've really been someone entirely different the whole time."

She realized she'd hit closer to home than she'd expected from the way he turned to her, the expression on his face one she had not encountered before. It didn't necessarily scare her, but it did enforce that she was, for once, right. She met his eyes briefly, offered a friendly smile, and then turned her attention back to the stage as the lights dimmed and the curtain rose.

"Have you seen Hannibal cook yet, Holly?" Deborah asked when the show was over.

"Once or twice," Holly answered innocently, sharing a secretive glance with the man in question.

"It's an entire performance, isn't it? Oh, you used to hold such wonderful dinner parties Hannibal," the older woman continued wistfully.

Holly couldn't help but giggle at the expression on his face when he heard that last sentence.

"That's right," the woman declared, "you heard me: _used to."_

"I cannot force a feast," he defended, "I must wait for a meal to present itself."

Holly nearly choked on the sip of champagne she'd been taking. It was an innocuous statement to everyone else, but Holly knew the meaning behind and she had not been prepared for the inside joke.

"It's a meal, not a unicorn," Deborah scoffed, ignoring Holly, luckily.

"The feast is life," he countered, holding Holly's drink for her as the coughing subsided, "You put the life in your belly and you live."

The younger woman took the glass from him again, nodding when someone asked if she was alright.

"I tried to breathe champagne, is all," she remarked lightly, making several people chuckle in response.

"Hannibal, I believe this young man has been trying to get your attention," Deborah informed them, turning as a somewhat overweight man approached them with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.

The man was also in a tuxedo, but he was scruffy and pulled it off much less successfully than Hannibal did. When he got close enough, the scent of his cologne engulfed the entire group, nearly choking her again. Holly considered him with open curiosity as he joined them with another, darker-skinned man in tow. Hannibal had to restrain himself from gritting his teeth at the sight of his patient coming towards him.

"Doctor Lector," the man greeted, sounding almost relieved that they'd finally noticed him.

"Franklyn," Hannibal replied pleasantly, "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Well, I do enjoy the ballet," the man answered, but to Holly it sounded forced, and her head tipped sideways as she tried to figure him out, "oh, and, uh, this is my friend, Tobias. Tobias, this is Doctor Lector."

"His eyes kept wandering. More interested in you than in what was happening on stage," the other man, Tobias, said as he shook hands with Hannibal.

As the two serial killers stared at each other, Franklyn's eyes were drawn to the fair-skinned beauty on Hannibal's left arm. He'd never seen Holly before, didn't even know that she lived in the same house that he had his sessions in. Seeing her so dressed up, makeup expertly applied and chandeliers highlighting the planes of her face, would certainly leave an impression. Sensing his gaze on her, she turned, meeting his brown eyes with her silvery ones and offered him one of her warm, easy smiles.

"Hello," she greeted in a friendly manner, and the sound of her voice interrupted both Hannibal and Tobias.

"Hi," Franklyn replied less articulately, and an amused little smile quirked her lips up as she waited for him to introduce himself.

"Ah, I almost forgot my manners," Hannibal intervened, smoothly taking control of the conversation again, "Franklyn, this is my date this evening, Holly. Holly, this is Franklyn."

"It's a pleasure," she added kindly, holding out a hand.

"Same," Franklyn managed, his large, clammy hand nearly engulfing hers.

Hannibal watched carefully as she shook Tobias's hand as well, seemingly oblivious to the threat that the strange man posed.

"How do you two know each other?" Deborah asked, gesturing between Hannibal and Franklyn.

Holly was interested to know this as well, but knew better than to inquire if her companion didn't offer it freely.

"Come now," Hannibal spoke before his patient could, "there must be some mystery to my life outside the theater."

Holly smiled to herself when he said that and she had to look away in case she gave something away.

"I'm one of his patients," Franklyn revealed, and Holly's head snapped back to him so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash, "oh that's an interesting scar you have there, Holly. How did it happen?"

He gestured on himself where he'd seen the mark on her. It seemed her hair had moved enough to reveal the part that the dress didn't cover.

"Oh, it's not really that interesting," she bluffed, "it's from a car accident. The seatbelt did its job, but it dug deep enough into my shoulder that I needed stitches."

She left it at that, knowing that if she tried to explain it away too much, it would be suspicious. Beneath her hand, she felt Hannibal tense just the slightest bit for a moment, and she didn't know if it was because of her cover story, or the fact that Franklyn had asked something so personal.

"If you all would excuse Holly and me," Hannibal said, "it's about time that we ate."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Holly," Deborah said, shaking the girl's hand, "let's hope we meet again the next time Hannibal decides to go to an event."

"Yes, that's would nice," Holly agreed, putting on her best smile, "it was wonderful to meet you."

She took Tobias and Franklyn's hands one last time as well, beaming at them.

"It was nice to meet you two as well," she added, before returning to Hannibal's side, "Have a lovely evening."

As they went home, Holly sighed with relief, leaning back in her seat. She'd enjoyed herself very much, even with the minefield-like conversation, but she was also glad to be going home again.

"Franklyn was very rude to ask you about your scar," Hannibal stated in the comfortable silence of the car.

"Perhaps," she allowed, "but he didn't mean to be. I get the feeling that he's not very good with people."

"Perhaps," he answered, frowning.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Will entered Hannibal's office later than usual that night, and threw his bag down on the couch agitatedly. He was working on a case that was stirring him up, and when Will got angry, he bought things. Thus the reason for the hastily wrapped Christmas present that slid out onto the leather.

"What's this?" Hannibal asked curiously, pointing to it.

"A gift," he answered frantically, "it was going to be for Holly, but I thought better of it."

He ran his hands down his face, mind going a thousand miles a minute without registering anything other than his own frustration.

"What did you get her, if I may ask?"

"Uh, art supplies," Will replied distractedly, "different types of pencils, pastels…"

"Her mother and father were very involved in art," Hannibal observed, turning the wrapped up gift over in his hands.

"That's why I thought better of it," Will said, leaning against his desk.

"I'm sure she'd enjoy it if you gave it to her. I believe she was saying earlier today how she was getting the urge to draw again," the psychiatrist assured him.

Will frowned, crossing his arms, debating. Holly almost never reacted the way he thought she would. He had images in his head of complete overdramatic reactions of outrage, or pointed, vindictive statements that hurt more than they should have, but he'd never even seen Holly _mad_, let alone infuriated enough to say something cruel or ungrateful.

"Maybe," he allowed, "depends on if she's still awake when we're done here."

"Then let's begin, shall we?"

"Holly, someone's here to see you," Hannibal called as Will followed him from the office to the living room.

The investigator was tapping the gift nervously against his palm, worried that she'd think it was insensitive. When they'd finished talking about his newest case, Will and Hannibal had discussed his obvious anxiety at giving Holly her present. Despite their conversation, he was still worried about how she'd feel about it.

"Is it Santa Claus?" Holly joked from her position on the couch.

She was curled up under a blanket, a book in her hand, which was where she usually stationed herself until such time that she was too tired to stay awake, or Hannibal finished up in his office.

"I personally prefer you call me Will," he quipped in return.

Holly perked up at the sound of his voice, platinum eyes sparking when she saw him as a smile pulled the corners of her full lips up.

"Hey there! What brings you here?" she inquired cheerfully, marking her page in the book as he came around to her side of the couch and sat beside her.

"I brought you a Christmas gift," he answered sounding more confident than he felt, setting the present in her lap, "it's nothing big. Just a little something…"

He forced himself to stop rambling. She glanced up at him, beaming already even though she hadn't even opened it yet. Hannibal watched the two, satisfied that his assessment of Holly had been accurate. She was grateful that Will had even thought to get her a gift-never mind whatever it was.

"Thank you," she squealed, throwing her arms around Will.

"Don't thank me yet," he murmured, surprised by her enthusiasm, "you haven't even seen what I got you, yet."

"Doesn't matter," Holly replied, pulling away as she began tearing the wrapping paper off, "that fact that you got me anything at all…"

She trailed off as she saw the art supplies, all neatly stacked and taped together in front of her. He'd bought her colored pencils, sketching pencils with different shades of graphite, and vividly colored dry pastels.

"Oh my god, Will," she gasped, pulling out the pastels and running a finger down one shade of blue, considering the residue on her fingers in amazement, "these are the really good ones. Thank you so much!"

She hugged him again, and he felt as if he'd just delivered a Christmas miracle from the way she held onto him.

"I got you something too, while I was in town," Holly revealed, hopping to her feet, "I'll be right back."

When she'd left, Hannibal and Will exchanged looks, surprised. She'd no mention to either of them about Christmas gifts, but obviously she'd somehow smuggled them into the house (and wrapped them) without Hannibal's knowledge. She took a suspiciously long amount of time retrieving Will's present, and Hannibal thought he heard the sound of his office door opening and closing, but she was back before he could investigate.

"Try not to drop it. I'm not sure if it'll break," Holly warned, handing Will a red and green bag.

Both wary and curious of what she'd bought him, he plunged a hand past the snowflake-printed tissue paper. His fingers brushed something smooth and cool, some sort of plastic, maybe? Carefully, he lifted it from the bag, revealing a thermos covered in different types of cartoon dogs and paw prints. He had to blink rapidly as he was blindsided by a sudden wave of unnamable emotion.

"I remembered that Hannibal had told me you rescue dogs, so I thought you might like it, especially since it's so cold this winter," Holly babbled, obviously just as concerned that he would or wouldn't like his gift.

"This is…perfect. Thank you, Holly," Will managed, drawing her in for a one armed hug as he kept his eyes on the thermos.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten something even vaguely this personal for Christmas.

"You're welcome," she chirped happily, "I'm happy you like it."

Holly hugged Hannibal lightly before heading up to bed. Will had already left, puppy-mug in tow, leaving Hannibal and Holly to sip hot chocolate and make conversation for another hour before the psychiatrist had caught her yawning and suggested she go to bed.

"Are you going to bed now or are you staying up?" she asked casually as she pulled away.

"I was going to finish up some work in my office," he answered.

He couldn't decide how he felt about the gift exchange that had taken place in the living room. Yes, he felt left out. Even he had to admit that to himself, but anything beyond that he needed to contemplate, and the privacy and familiarity his office provided would be the optimum place for just that.

"Alright, well, I'll see you tomorrow morning. Good night," Holly said, and he caught sight of her expression for a moment, which gave her away.

She was had done something, or was planning to do something, without his consent or knowledge. Knowing her, it likely wasn't anything he'd protest to, but it did make him curious. First the Christmas present to Will and now this whatever she was hiding? It was unlike her to keep secrets from him.

She slipped up the stairs without another word, probably aware that she'd been caught and trying to escape. Deciding to let her be for now, he returned to his office, readying himself for at least another hour of record keeping and reviewing the day's events in his mind.

He was in for a surprise however, when he found a carefully wrapped, rectangular box sitting innocently in the middle of his desk, where he couldn't miss it. There was a shiny red bow on it as well, and written on the back of one of his business cards in gold marker, it said "Happy Holidays, Hannibal!" in Holly's somewhat messy mix of cursive and print.

Hannibal settled into his chair, considering the gift curiously before reaching for his letter opener, slicing neatly through the wrapping paper. As he removed the paper, he considered the ominous black box that greeted him. Sliding the lid off revealed a set of very expensive pens of a brand that Hannibal had mentioned only once that he preferred.

He sat in silence for several very long moments, contemplating the gift, before finally putting one of the pens into use.

Holly came downstairs the next morning to the usual purposeful sounds of cooking utensils being used and the scent of something cooking in the kitchen. Sure enough, Hannibal was bustling about the kitchen. A pan of muffins was cooling on a rack on the counter and Hannibal was sautéing something on the stove.

"Good morning, Hannibal," she called sunnily, as she entered.

"Good morning," he answered pleasantly, "it's funny: after you went to bed last night, I went to my office, and found something waiting for me on my desk."

"Oh yeah?" she asked with a blissfully clueless expression, "What was it?"

She was busily pouring herself a cup of coffee, glancing at him when he took a moment too long to answer. He could easily tell that she was trying to keep herself from smile, but she was struggling.

"A present. Someone left me a set of pens that come from Italy."

"From Italy?" she inquired, raising her eyebrows as she took a sip, "The kind you like?"

She leaned against the counter, silvery eyes alight.

"Yes, actually," he told her, "just in time, too. My last set was running out."

Unable to hide her it any longer, a wide grin curled her lips up.

"Do you think Will bought them for you?" she wondered innocently.

"I doubt Will pays that much attention to the type of pen I use," Hannibal pointed out as he began setting food on a plate.

"It's a mystery, then," Holly stated, shrugging, "but happy holidays anyway, Hannibal."

He smiled at her with a small nod.

"Happy holidays to you as well, Holly."

Holly spent the remainder of the day drawing. It took her a few rough sketches and frustrated mumblings to get her rusty skills back into working order, and then focused on doing some serious drawings. She had a partially-filled sketchbook from college in her things, so she began where she left off in that.

The first couple drawings were innocent enough-landscapes, her favorite dishes that Hannibal made, even a cute little portrait of Will's face. Eventually, though, the images changed, and soon she found herself drawing Hannibal's hands clutching a bloodied knife, Will holding an old-fashioned revolver, herself standing over her own bloody corpse. By the time Hannibal called her for lunch, she'd filled up almost five pages, of pictures that she was sure Alana would love nothing more than to analyze.

"Enjoying Will's gift to you?" Hannibal inquired as they ate.

"Yes," she answered, hoping he wouldn't be able to tell that her own illustrations had disturbed her somewhat, "I haven't been able to put down my sketchbook all day."

Of course, he could tell right away that something was off. Her ash grey eyes were more distant than usual, conflicted, and her tone of voice held a sort of haunted undercurrent. He knew better than to press her though. If she didn't tell him on her own, she'd skirt the subject until he gave up, and while they were both tenacious, he didn't want to risk losing her confidence.

"Have you had any nightmares lately, Holly?" he asked instead, thinking he would perhaps be able to eliminate some possibilities for what troubled her.

"No," she replied sincerely, "I haven't had any for the past couple weeks or so."

"You would tell me if Bryan Williams contacted you in some way, wouldn't you? Me or Will?"

She blinked at him, clearly thrown by the seemingly random question.

"Of course. I value my life-and yours and Will's. I'd tell both of you if he tried getting at me," she assured him.

Accepting her answer, they fell into silence as he pondered her strange behavior. Whatever it was had something to do with her drawing. Perhaps she'd drawn something she hadn't meant to? Like writing, art often reflected the artist's inner turmoil. Perhaps some subconscious thoughts had made their way onto the page. If that was so-which it seemed more likely by the minute-it made sense that she'd want to keep it private until she could make sense of it.

"Good luck with your next appointment," Holly chimed as they parted ways until it was time to begin cooking dinner.

"Thank you," he said, nodding at her before going back to his office.

Franklyn was his next patient, and the man (who was obviously making a poor attempt to imitate Hannibal's clothing fashion) wanted to talk about nothing but their impromptu meeting at the ballet.

"I didn't expect that girl to be with you. Holly, wasn't it?" the man was saying.

"Yes, Holly is a very close friend of mine," Hannibal answered, leaving it at that for his patient to continue.

"Is she a patient of yours? Wait, never mind, you can't answer that. I didn't take you…for the dating type, Doctor Lector," the man rambled.

"Franklyn, we're not here to talk about my love life. However, we can talk about yours. Have you been in any romantic relationships recently?" Hannibal replied, pushing the subject, once more, away from himself.

"No. I've never really been good at the whole dating thing. I never know what my partner wants. It's so hard to tell with women. They get mad, they cry, they _scream_…"

"They're human," Hannibal pointed out.

"I know, but I just don't know what they want from me," Franklyn explained, "how do you figure out what Holly wants?"

"I listen to her," Hannibal answered with a shrug, "just as I would listen to anyone else. Perhaps it's not what women want from you, but what you want from them."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Holly woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, gasping for air. She kicked out at something she couldn't see, but her leg was caught in the blankets and her momentum rolled her off the edge of the bed. She landed hard, and then lay on the floor for several moments, allowing the pain from impact to cut through the sleepiness.

She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands before pushing herself to her feet. She was too strung up to go back to bed yet, so Holly slipped from her room and down the stairs, into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water, leaning against the counter as she sipped slowly and stared off into space.

"I thought I'd find you in here," Hannibal said suddenly from the doorway, startling her.

"Did I wake you?" she asked wearily, setting the cup down beside her on the counter.

"Yes," he replied, stepping further into the kitchen, "but it's alright."

He leaned against the counter across from her, studying her features. She looked tired, which was to be expected considering it was the middle of the night, but unlike the usual haunted expression she wore after nightmares, she looked closer to disturbed.

"Would you like to talk about it?" he inquired, as he always did.

A ghost of a smile came over her face as she crossed her arms, shrugging.

"I can't remember what I dreamed about," she answered honestly, "I just know it felt different this time. I don't know how. It was just…not the usual nightmare."

Well, that wasn't entirely true. She knew what it _felt _like. It had felt like she was standing at a precipice, and she was fighting that urge people always got to jump when they stood at a great height. She was caught between backing away from that edge, where she knew it was safe, and pitching herself over the side and into the mysterious abyss. What awaited her at the bottom if she chose the latter however, was anyone's guess.

"I just kissed Alana Bloom."

It was at that exact moment in time that Holly realized she needed to leave the room. It had not been when the murderous Tobias Budge had come to dinner and admitted he had been planning on killing both Hannibal and Holly (and Holly had promptly choked on her wine and muttered 'good luck' under her breath). It had not been when Hannibal admitted he'd been planning to kill Tobias as well while the two killers stood facing each other, at which point Holly had caught a rare glimpse of the animal that lay behind the psychiatrist's meticulous mask (which she had found morbidly fascinating and even attractive).

No, the moment Holly understood and accepted that she needed to leave was when a frantic and disheveled Will Graham crashed said dinner party (while Tobias escaped) and confessed that he'd kissed Holly's psychiatrist. Thus, while his back was turned as he explained the incident to Hannibal, she slipped away completely unnoticed. She snagged her sketchbook off the couch and hightailed it upstairs as the first of the anger slammed into her.

She hadn't been angry (at least not _this_ angry) in a very long time. She could only remember a handful of occasions in which she became so enraged that she didn't even have the slightest clue what to do with herself to settle the fury. It ate her up from the inside out, starting in her belly and travelling up until she threatened to scream.

She worried it was the possessive type of feeling that stalkers got that pushed them into violent action. The thought washed over her like oil, leaving her feeling dirty and pathetic and wrong. No! She was not her father. She was not like him. She didn't fly into fits of unfounded rage at random.

Will was not hers to claim. He could kiss whomever he wanted, and if that so happened to be the lamb, it was not Holly's business. The anger quickly subsided into bitterness and hurt. She sucked air between her teeth at the way the pain cut her like a physical blow. Bathroom. She needed to get to the bathroom. Now.

She darted in, would have slammed the door if she wasn't afraid Hannibal and/or Will would hear it. She wrenched the shower tap until the water was as hot as she could stand and just stood under the spray, all the sudden, overwhelming emotion bottled up within her. A few sobs escaped, but no tears.

How could she let herself cry when she didn't even know how she felt about Will? Did she think she was attracted to him only because he'd saved her life? Was there a syndrome for that? There probably was. Holly had no doubt about it. She hadn't purposefully made any romantic gestures towards him (although she wouldn't have known how if she'd tried). He hadn't shown any sort of romantic interest in her, either. Why was she so cut up about it?

"Dammit," she whimpered, the profanity foreign but not unwelcome on her tongue.

It had been months that she'd been living with Hannibal and this was the first time profanity had left her lips in his household. Sure, she let loose an obscenity here and there with Steph (that's what friends were for, after all), but not around Hannibal, or in the house.

"Dammit," she whispered again, carefully picking herself up from the tub floor where she'd somehow landed.

"Childish," she murmured to herself as she turned the water off, "I'm acting childish."

She wasn't a teenager anymore. Crying over men she may or may not have been secretly pining for was long in her past. It was no longer appropriate to run away from the kitchen and hide in her room because her feelings were hurt for no viable reason. Will was her friend and had obviously been in great distress. She should have been there to help him through it, not run away like a scared little girl.

"Now that I'm here though…"

She couldn't force herself to go back downstairs and she hated herself for every moment of it as she sat on the bed and madly began focusing on drawing instead. She didn't cry, wouldn't let herself ruin the pictures, she wouldn't give in to such ridiculous temptation. Instead, Holly focused on her art, finishing two whole pages of various images, all of them reflecting the darker tones her pictures had taken recently, before the sleepiness hit.

She told herself she'd close her eyes, just for moment, to let her tired eyes rest. Of course, Holly should have known better. She fell asleep less than ten minutes later.

Hannibal had noticed Holly's swift escape, known immediately why. She fostered strong feelings for Will (that much was obvious from the day they'd first met) but she was conflicted as to _what _she felt for the investigator. It was probably best that she had left, Hannibal thought, considering the fact that Will had gone somewhat in depth about the kiss.

"What spurred you to kiss Alana?" Hannibal inquired when the investigator had reached the end of his tale, "You've been friends for years. What caused you to act now?"

Will crossed his arms, considering the extra uneaten dessert sitting on the counter that had been meant for Holly. Hannibal would have to put it in the fridge for her, she'd want it for later.

"I don't know. I just…" he paused, looking around suddenly, "where did Holly go?"

"She went upstairs, I should think," the serial killer answered, "I believe she didn't feel it was her business to know that you kissed her doctor."

Will scrubbed at his face with a groan, knowing immediately what that meant. She'd been embarrassed or hurt or both, and it made him cringe to think that it was his fault and that there would be awkwardness or discomfort between them. He had always enjoyed how comfortable she was around him, how warm and friendly she acted.

"In my mind, I wasn't kissing Alana," Will confessed, "I mean, I knew I was, consciously, but I had wanted, been imagining…someone else."

Hannibal allowed just the hint of a smirk to come to his features at the admission. Now they were getting somewhere. In truth, he hadn't been ignorant of either of their affections for each other, and he was also aware that Holly was walking the same thin line with her feelings towards himself. This could turn out to be…promising.

"Why did you not go to this 'someone else' directly?" Hannibal questioned.

"Because I don't think she's interested in me-at least not that way, and I enjoy her company and friendship too much to risk it so recklessly," Will answered, shoveling bites of the dessert in his mouth.

"Friendship is a rare thing for you, Will, and you cherish it. I wonder though, that you're willing to risk your friendship with Alana over the friendship you have with this other woman, but perhaps it would be worth the risk."

Will stared at the dessert pensively, realizing the implications of the confession he'd just made to the cannibal.

"Maybe," he allowed at last.

When Will had finally left and the kitchen was cleaned to his standard, Hannibal journeyed upstairs to prepare for bed. Noticing that Holly's bedroom light was on, he debated for a moment before approaching the closed door. He rapped lightly against the wood and waited for an answer, but it remained silent.

"Holly?"

More silence.

"Holly, I'm coming in."

When he opened the door, he was greeted with a slumbering Holly, laying facedown and upside-down on the bed. Her sketchbook was open by her arm, pencils and pastels littering the space beside it. As he approached, he couldn't help but take a peek at the illustrations on the latest pages. Very skillfully (and imaginatively) drawn out in detail were both him and Will, nude, posing as if they'd been modeling right in front of her the entire time.

It wasn't distasteful, the way she'd drawn them, despite the lack of clothing. The style imitated that of the old masters, but with a somewhat darker, feminine twist to it, with splashes of color where she'd opted to use the pastels as well. Despite the amount of work and careful attention to detail that had been put into the drawings, there was a detached tone to the pieces, like she was trying to capture the beauty without _being _captured by it in the process.

"My, my," he breathed, settling carefully on the edge of the bed.

She shifted a little, moving a smidge closer to him so that her hip pressed into his lower back before settling again with a little sigh. He realized that she must not have been planning to come back downstairs for the rest of the night, because she was dressed in a pair of shorts and a midriff that he had not ever seen her in before.

Once or twice before she'd ventured downstairs in her pajamas, but they were always appropriate-usually pants and a t-shirt or jacket. Most times however, she came down already dressed for the day, so seeing her in _this,_ with so much of her lily-white skin exposed, was both unusual and intriguing.

"Holly," he said, placing an innocuous hand on her back, "Holly, Will is gone now."

She blinked awake, yawning.

"Hmm?" she asked sleepily, picking her head up, "Hannibal?"

"Good evening, Holly. You disappeared so suddenly that I came to check on you," he explained.

She hummed that she understood and sat up, stretching and brushing her auburn-tinted hair from her features.

"Sorry to run out on you like that," she said, "I don't know what came over me."

"It's perfectly understandable," he assured her, "considering the shock he must have given you."

She made a face, rubbing one ash-grey eye with the heel of her hand.

"Even still," she allowed, "I'm disappointed that I missed dessert."

"Not at all," he replied, standing, "I saved yours."

Her face lit up as she accepted his hand and they travelled back downstairs together. As she leisurely began on her late dessert, the doctor poured himself another small glass of wine.

"Would you like to talk about it?" he asked, causing her to glance up at him with a half-humored look.

"It was not one of my proudest moments," she remarked, leaning her hip against the counter.

"Perhaps not, but you managed to remove yourself from a potentially far more degrading situation. At least you were able to experience your indignity in private, rather than in the presence of those you respect and whose respect you would not wish to lose," he replied optimistically, and her shoulders dropped in relief.

"I like your way of viewing it better than mine," she confessed wryly, eyes on the food.

"How do you view it?" he inquired.

She sighed, tapping the end of the fork against her lip as she considered how best to sum it up.

"A moment of childish weakness," she decided, looking up at him to gauge his assessment as she continued eating again.

"Childish?" he questioned.

"To run off just because he kissed my therapist?" she pointed out, "It sounds like something out of a lame high school drama. I should have just sucked it up and stuck around."

She groaned as she realized that sooner or later, she'd have to face the music with Will. The thought made her cringe. Oh, how she was slowly regretting her decision more and more…

"If you had done so, I believe we would have had a homicide on our hands," Hannibal queried in such a way that she recognized was equal parts joking and serious.

She snorted softly even as a smile curled her lips up.

"Whose body do you think would have to be hidden?" she asked.

"It's hard to say without seeing you and good Will actually battle. While he is larger and more muscular than you, you are faster and have also proven to be quite resourceful in dire situations."

She made a contemplative noise as she considered this.

"Yes, but I'm not keen on hurting Will. Do you think that would be a disadvantage?"

"At the moment in time we're discussing, I don't believe Will's health was high on your priorities," he pointed out, sipping from his wine.

"Okay, fair point," she admitted, "but Will has those empathy powers of his. Couldn't he just predict what I would do before I could do it?"

Hannibal chuckled a little, setting his glass down.

"He can assume your point of view, not see into the future, Holly."

"Huh," she murmured as she began cleaning her plate, "in this hypothetical fight, do we have weapons?"

"This hypothetical fight is taking place in this kitchen, and let's assume I wouldn't get involved."

She hummed again, washing soap off her hands.

"Then I'd definitely have home field advantage, considering I know the kitchen-and the rest of the house-better than him, but that wouldn't count for much if he managed to grab hold of me…"

Perhaps it was a little strange, but Hannibal had somehow, in the course of their conversation over who would win in a fight to the death against Will and Holly, managed to cheer her up. Nothing like prospective murder to lift the soul, she thought as she and Hannibal continued debating the imaginary bout.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"What do you think?" Will asked in a bored tone.

Holly turned to the left, confused. Will sat slightly slouched in a black throne of bone, legs apart. His elbow was settled on one arm, propping his cheek on his knuckles. Atop his head crookedly sat a crown of black bone as well, and his eyes seemed darker to her, more brooding than normal. A large, curved black nail was strung on a cord around his neck, laying on the chest of his white tunic. Despite the slight scowl on his face, he looked comfortable and sure of himself, he had a confidence he usually lacked.

"What?" Holly replied stupidly, blinking.

"It's your decision, Holly," Hannibal added, from her right.

His throne, in contrast, was bleached white bone and high-backed. He sat up straight and proper as always, arms settled calmly on the arms of the chair. A pair of antlers perched at the top of the throne, and a string of raven feathers hung from one of them. His crown sat regally on his head, imitating the antlers affixed to his seat. He black robes rather than a tunic, and around his neck he bore a single raven feather.

"_What _is my decision?" she asked, turning to look at Will again in confusion.

He met her eyes for a brief moment before he nodded his head towards something in front of them. Holly followed his gaze, down the steps leading to their trio to a red carpet, where a man kneeled, head bent to kiss the floor. As if sensing her eyes on him, the man picked his head up, and she was met with her father's face.

"I'm doing this for you and your mother," he said desperately, rising to his feet.

She opened her mouth to say something, even though she didn't have the slightest clue what she could say. Then the staccato beat of gunshots rang through the throne room, echoing up to the vaulted dome ceiling and bouncing off the pillars of black and white marble. Bullets pierced through her father's body and he fell back, a pool of crimson darkening the carpet. Stunned, she spun to where the gunshots had sounded, Will.

"Excellent choice, Holly," he praised, tossing the gun away carelessly, so that it skittered across the polished floor to land beside her father's corpse.

"Yes, he would have destroyed you otherwise," Hannibal agreed proudly, nodding to her respectfully.

She returned gaze to her father's body again, but in his place stood Alana Bloom, in a white dress with a tarnished bell on a blue ribbon around her neck. To her left, Holly noticed Will lean forward in his seat with great interest, and Hannibal sat back on her right, lacing his fingers together. She turned to him, wondering if this was to be her decision as well. Noticing Holly's questioning look, Hannibal gave her a clever smile before reverting his attention to Alana Bloom again.

Except, when Holly's turned as well, she was not looking at Alana but was standing next to her, and they were facing three thrones, three people, all appraising the two women from their lofty positions. Holly found herself staring up at herself, between Hannibal and Will, but it wasn't her. Not really.

The woman that looked down on them with a cold, calculating expression was not the same woman that Holly saw reflected in the mirror every day. This woman sat on a throne of bone like the others, but hers was neither bleached nor black, but almost gray, and on her head rested a crown of hawk feathers. Her dress was sophisticated and silvery, with a plunging neckline and two slits in the skirt to allow each leg to be seen. One arm rested on the chair, the other propped her chin up as she regarded both a shaking Alana and perplexed Holly.

"Oh look, a lamb has entered the wolves den," the other Holly remarked serenely, almost offhandedly, voice clear and bell-like as it bounced around the room.

One cue, there was a vicious snarling sound and Alana cried out as two wolves leapt from the shadows. They tore the woman to pieces in a matter of moments, leaving Holly in shocked, blood-spattered silence. The fleshy, shredded mess that remained didn't look even remotely similar to the pretty doctor. The rolled languidly across the floor, leaving a thin trail of blood until it stopped by Holly's feet. Letting out a shuddering breath, she slowly turned back to the three people.

"Why did you do that?" she inquired carefully, voice no doubt giving away her horror.

Will stood, fingers twitching slightly as he referred silently to the Holly that sat next to him. Hannibal sat forward in his seat with that smirk on his face again, while the other Holly remained unmoved, platinum eyes glittering in the light shining from stained-glass windows.

"Why wouldn't I have done that?" the doppelganger replied, a hint of amusement coloring her tone.

"Because there's been enough bloodshed!" Holly cried in answer and Will looked truly shocked for a moment, "If you and I are the same person, then we know there's been enough!"

Will took a step towards her, but stopped, glancing back at the woman.

"Has there been?" the other Holly replied, "You never took a life and yet your own father tried to take yours. There's nothing you can do to stop it, so why shouldn't you join in? Be the one to spill blood rather than have yours spilt."

Her mouth dropped open, but no words came out for several moments as Hannibal got to his feet as well, straightening his clothes. She breathed heavily, clenching and unclenching her fists.

"But why did it have to be Doctor Bloom?" she managed.

"Because she wanted to play among the wolves," the doppelganger replied easily with a callous shrug, "and because she tried to make lambs of wolves."

Holly struggled to find something to say, anything, but the woman sitting on the throne above her made a twisted sort of sense, reflecting thoughts that she hadn't even dared to let cross her conscious mind.

"Be with us," Will said suddenly, taking the first step down from the dais and reaching a hand out, expression pleading, "don't be something you're not, Holly. Trust me, it does more harm than good."

Holly bit her lip, wanting so badly to go to the warmth that she saw in his eyes.

"What do you mean," she questioned, "by 'something I'm not'?"

"Come," Hannibal called before Will could answer taking a couple steps towards the stairs but not actually descending any of them and holding out a hand as well, "join us, Holly."

Still she hesitated.

"You're asking me to kill people," she choked out, a tear slipping down her cheek, "I don't know if I can do that."

The other Holly stood at that moment, and descended the stairs, graceful and elegant, her strength of presence so powerful it was hard to endure. She approached Holly, one arm extended, palm up, a gentle, goading smile on her lips.

"You are either prey or predator. Haven't you gotten tired of being the prey?"

Holly bolted upright in the bed, breath coming out in ragged gasps. She touched her face and made sure there was no blood, looked at her clothes, ran her hands through her tangled hair. She reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, reassuring herself that she was in her room. She wasn't scared, not in the usual terror kind of way, but she was disturbed, worried of what would wait for her if she dared closed her eyes again, though the temptation was nearly overwhelming.

Deciding that she needed to be with someone, Holly slipped out of her room and padded down the hall, pausing at Hannibal's door, and debated with herself. She couldn't be alone right now, not with her own mutinous (and murderous, apparently) thoughts. Steeling herself and swallowing her own reservations, she lightly knocked at the door. From inside, she heard rustling, muted footsteps, and then she came face to face with Hannibal's bare chest.

"Holly," he sounded surprised.

"I…" she trailed off, unsure what to say without having to recount the entire experience.

"Did you have another nightmare?"

"Something like that," she answered softly, unable to look at him as she rubbed at her arm.

"Were you hoping to spend the rest of the night with me to keep the dreams away?"

She faltered.

"I…don't know. If that would make you uncomfortable, then no. I just…can't be alone right now…"

Hannibal regarded her carefully, knowing that this was different from the usual nightmare. She didn't purposefully seek him out when she slept poorly. Something new had occurred in her dreamscape that had unsettled her and now she needed an anchor, a friend, because she didn't trust herself alone. Never before had he heard her say that she couldn't (or even didn't want to) be alone.

"Come in," he invited, stepping out of the way so that she could enter.

Holly moved past him, into the proverbial lion's den, surprised and intimidated by how much darker it seemed to be compared to her sleeping quarters. She stopped in the middle of the floor, eyes drifting around the room.

"Would you like a glass of water before bed?" he inquired, stopping just behind her.

She shook her head, unconsciously leaning towards him the slightest bit. She hadn't realized how much she wanted physical contact to reassure her that she was awake and real.

"Then let us rest," he answered, but didn't touch her yet.

He waited, knowing that she would naturally be hesitant to join a man in bed, especially when she seemed so conflicted in her feelings towards both him and Will. After another moment, she haltingly approached the bed, slipping beneath the silk sheets stiffly. He followed, sliding under the covers easily, trying to hide the smirk on his face as he lay down beside her.

Holly breathed slowly, deeply and soon enough, she was drifting off again, comforted by the cool, rich scent of Hannibal surrounding her. Before she could fully drop off into unconsciousness however, there was a falling sensation, and her body jerked automatically in response, startling her. Holly was so tired, however, that she was barely roused from her half-asleep state, and the only thing her exhausted mind managed to process was that she needed something to hold onto.

Unconscious of her movements, she moved closer to Hannibal, snuggling up against him. He was solid, reassuring, and she drifted off to sleep again with her head settled on his shoulder and her arms tucked in between their bodies.

Hannibal, despite that unperturbed he was with the situation, could not simply ignore the delicious scent coming from Holly's skin and hair. She smelled of roses in bloom and wild jasmine with the sharp edge of lavender. He experimentally ran his fingers through her hair. It was soft and smooth, silken to the touch, and she was warm and supple against him, a strange contrast to the coldness and hardness of his room.

She shifted, nestling closer into him, one arm stretching partially across his stomach and she murmured something under her breath that sounded vaguely like his name, but he couldn't be sure. Hannibal reflected on his luck that he'd chosen to do his work that night earlier rather than later, so that he would not have to try to detangle himself from Holly and risk waking her.

She'd know about the dinner party soon enough, but he knew that if Holly was aware he was leaving her alone at night, the nightmares would return with a vengeance. It was better that she just believe he slept down the hall rather than collecting ingredients for the upcoming meal.


	10. Chapter 10

Fights between Hannibal and Holly were vastly different from fights between Holly and Will. The main reason for that would be because Hannibal and Holly _didn't_ fight. No, they had friendly debates and the occasional disagreement, but like wolves in a functional pack, Holly always bowed to his final command, because she recognized that he was rightfully the alpha, as did Will. They submitted to him and that was that. They kept order that way. Holly had no reason to question his judgment and Hannibal was content to be the alpha.

The same could not be said between Holly and Will. In the hierarchy, they were roughly ranked equally, and the mood of one affected the other. Therefore, if Will felt he was in a more dominant mood, Holly submitted like she would to Hannibal, and vice versa, and if both chose to be submissive, all the better for Hannibal. However, the problem lied within the times when both of them felt in a more dominant mood. Those were the times when they clashed like oil and water; and that was exactly what happened two days after Holly's late night excursion with Hannibal.

It started when Will came over for lunch. Holly was finishing her latest set of drawings, nearly filled the sketchbook already, when he arrived. She said hello and smiled politely, but didn't get up to hug him, like she usually did. She only left the safety of the couch when Hannibal called her to eat, and then barely spoke more than a few sentences when she felt it had been too long since she'd chimed in. Even when she did join their conversation, she was distant and closed off, refusing to let Will see past her façade.

When lunch was finished, she busied herself with washing the dishes and after they'd contributed to the cleaning an appropriate amount, Will and Hannibal retired to Hannibal's office, telling Holly to join them when she was done. She waited about ten minutes once all the dishes were clean, making up her mind as to what she would do.

An out-of-place book caught her attention, where it sat conspicuously on the counter. It struck her as odd, considering Holly was always careful not to leave things lying around, knowing how particular Hannibal was. She realized then that Hannibal must have purposefully left it there, knowing she'd return it to his office, forcing her to cross the two men. She sighed, muttering under her breath at the manipulative cannibal.

"Hannibal, you left this on the counter," she said when she entered the office, holding the book up.

"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten about it. Could you put it back on the shelf for me?"

He was rifling through papers, looking for something, so he didn't notice how her silvery eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she began across the office. Holly was studiously avoiding Will's gaze, and so she missed the obviously angry expression on his face as she deftly climbed the ladder one-handed.

"Anything you want to tell me about, Holly?" the investigator asked suddenly, nearly startling her.

Of course he'd noticed the way she'd been acting around him. It was pretty obvious, even without the empathy. He had felt nothing but regret up until he had joined Hannibal in the office, and the psychiatrist had casually mentioned that he and Holly had slept together a couple nights prior. Now he felt angry and betrayed, and unlike her, he didn't have the presence of mind to remove himself from the situation to cool off first.

"No, not particularly," Holly answered lightly, completely oblivious to what was about to happen.

"That's interesting, because-"

He was cut off by the sound of the Hannibal's phone ringing loudly. The doctor checked the screen and glanced at them.

"Please excuse me, I need to take this," he told them before slipping from the room.

Holly's mouth dropped open as she finally caught up with where the doctor's mind had probably been the whole time. He'd been planning this!

"How could you be so irresponsible?!" Will exploded suddenly.

"What are you even talking about?" she asked in aggravation, descending the ladder so that they were on even footing.

"You _slept_ with him," he ground out.

Holly rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up.

"Oh no, it's the end of the world," she replied sarcastically, shaking her head and moving to escape.

She and Hannibal would be having a talk later, that much was certain. She did not appreciate being set up like this without warning. He'd given no indication of doing this and now she felt ambushed. Will stepped in front of her before she could reach the office door hands clenching and unclenching into fists.

"Holly, how could you?" he growled.

She stopped, taking a full moment to process that, yes, Will Graham had just asked her that.

"Are you serious right now?!" she shouted, "It's not like I _kissed _him."

"Oh so that's what this is about? Getting revenge on me because I kissed Alana?" he queried.

"Please," Holly scoffed, crossing her arms, "don't flatter yourself, Will. I'm not petty enough for revenge."

"Then what the hell were you thinking?!"

He began pacing, like a wild animal in a cage, but Holly stayed put, refusing to convey how much his irritation was affecting her.

"That I didn't want to be alone, for one," she answered angrily, "that I was having a bad dream, for another. What's your excuse?"

He laughed mirthlessly, running a hand through his mess of curls.

"I don't need an excuse to kiss Alana," he responded and he realized then that Holly may very well swing on him, "and why did you run off like that, that night anyway?"

Her expression darkened as she scowled at him.

"I don't know, Will, maybe I truly didn't want to hear all the lurid details of your hot and heavy make out session with _my psychiatrist," _she was practically screaming now, "but then again, I don't really _need an excuse,_ do I?"

She was flushed and nearly panting from yelling at him. Will had only ever had the displeasure of seeing her irritated once or twice, but now he'd really done it. She hadn't lost this much control over herself in ages and it was both liberating and terrifying. At that moment, probably hearing that the situation was escalating rapidly, Hannibal returned.

He found Will and Holly facing off from opposite sides of the room, both of them absolutely radiating fury, like a wolf and a wild cat about to go at it. The atmosphere was so thick and tense he could practically taste it. Perhaps that hypothetical battle between the two wouldn't remain hypothetical for much longer.

"You know what Will?" Holly said suddenly, voice barely quieter now, "Just forget it."

With that, she stalked out of the office and out the front door, angrily stuffing her arms into her coat as she went down the sidewalk.

Back in the office, where Holly had left both men, Will swallowed, his anger leaving him all at once as he slumped down in the patient chair, dropping his head in his hands.

"I'm an idiot," he groaned, rubbing at his face.

"No, you're human. You make mistakes," Hannibal corrected calmly, completely undisturbed by what had just occurred.

"She is the last person I wanted to make a mistake with," Will replied, voice filled with regret as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It was inevitable, you two share too many similarities to not clash."

The investigator could only groan, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses.

"I don't believe your indiscretion was severe enough to be irreparable," the serial killer assured him, "I know Holly, and I know that she will forgive you once she has cooled down."

"I completely blew that out of proportion, didn't I?" Will questioned, leaning his head back slightly and closing his eyes.

"I have a feeling your both at fault for making it more than it was," Hannibal said.

Truthfully, he'd known that both of their emotions had been running high and had expected some sort of altercation to occur. It was unfortunate that his phone had pulled him away because Hannibal had wanted to see the two usually mild-mannered individual's tempers flare, firsthand. He'd most certainly _heard _it, but it would have been more desirable to watch. In addition, he'd wanted to act as an intervention had the quarrel become physical. It was fortunate that Holly and Will both had enough self-control to refrain from harming each other.

"When do you think she'll come back?" Will inquired.

"When she's prepared to apologize, should you still be here."

That could take hours or minutes, but Will was determined to wait it out in order to extend his own apology.

Holly returned only about thirty minutes later, having walked two full blocks before returning to Hannibal's home. Yes, she knew she'd really lost it in there and her outrage was disproportionate to the situation. She wasn't sure what came over her, but she came to the conclusion she needed to apologize to Will for her behavior. And, okay, she'd admit that she knew _why _she was so angry, she just couldn't understand what had finally made her snap.

When all was said and done, she still felt deeply connected to Will and the fondness she fostered for him outweighed petty transgressions. She cared far too much for him to just leave things the way they had, so she'd swallow her pride and hope he'd forgive her for exploding on him.

With a sigh, she climbed the steps and opened the front door, relieved to find that Hannibal had left it unlocked. It would be pretty embarrassing to have to knock on her own front door. Holly swung the door closed a little louder than she usually would, effectively announcing her arrival that way. She removed her shoes, setting them neatly by the coat rack as she shrugged out of her jacket and hung it up.

As she left the entrance hall, she discovered Will waiting for her in the living room. She bit into her lip, hesitating, but the sight of him there, looking sincere and regretful was like coming home again. Before she knew what she was doing, she flew into his arms, sniffling a little as she buried her face into his shirt.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, "You didn't deserve anything that I said. It wasn't my business."

Will wrapped his arms around her, surprised by her earnestness, and stroked her hair, hoping to comfort her.

"It's alright," he murmured reassuringly, really kicking himself now for being so harsh earlier, "I was out of line too."

"It's okay," she replied, turning her face into him, "but honestly nothing happened. We fell asleep and that was it. I've slept in my room since then."

"I know," he tightened his grip on her as a bit of jealously tightened his gut anyway.

Hannibal was in his office seeing to a patient that had arrived while Holly was away, so she and Will waited for him on the couch, talking idly. She had her head settled on his shoulder, their fingers intertwined companionably.

"Holly, could I ask you a…personal question? It's going to seem kind of strange," Will said at length.

"Yes, of course," she answered without hesitation, tipping her head to look up at him.

"What's…your headspace like?"

She gave him a curious look.

"My headspace..." she mused allowed, "it's usually pretty crowded, but drawing helps with that. My thoughts tend to overlap and contradict each other, so it's chaotic, but it's an organized sort of madness. Thoughts bleed into one another most times, so that I start on one idea and suddenly I'm contemplating something entirely different and I almost never remember how I got there."

Satisfied that she'd explained it well enough, she watched Will's face to gauge his reaction.

"It doesn't bother you?" he inquired, "That you can't remember?"

"No," she answered lightly with a shrug, "if it's something important, I end up coming back to it again, and whenever I feel too overwhelmed, I go to my happy place."

At that moment, Hannibal walked in, smiling at them both nonchalantly.

"You orchestrated that entire episode," Holly accused as soon as she saw him, platinum eyes narrowing.

He approached the couch, hand settling easily on her shoulder, close to her neck.

"Yes," he admitted, "I was interested to see how an intense interaction between you two would be. I am quite satisfied with my findings."

She rolled her eyes, leaning her head back to see his face.

"Well, at least someone got something out of this," she muttered with slight irritation.

"On the contrary," Hannibal corrected, "I think you both will find that you learned something valuable about each other today."

She settled with an unamused look as Will chuckled.

"Don't worry about it, Holly. Everything turned out alright in the end anyway," Will added.

"I suppose," she replied begrudgingly, sighing.

Will grinned and got to his feet.

"I need to head home to feed the dogs and get some rest. I'll see you soon, Holly."

"See you soon," she echoed, wrapping her arms around him again.

She did not miss the light kiss he planted on her head before saying goodbye to Hannibal as well and leaving. Well, that was different, considering he was usually pretty conservative about that sort of physical contact.

"Come, why don't you help me make dinner, Holly?"

"You told him about me, Franklyn?" Tobias asked from behind Hannibal.

The other serial killer swiftly stood and turned to see Holly being restrained by the taller man. There was a bruise quickly forming across one cheek, and a line of blood trailed messily from her bottom lip. Tobias was holding a knife to her throat, uncomfortably similar to how her father had held her so many months before, but her expression was more inconvenienced than anything.

"I forgot to ask, Hannibal," he started conversationally, "is Holly an apprentice, a pet, or livestock you're preparing for slaughter? She's got such a lovely voice, I wouldn't want to have to cut her strings."

"Oh my god, Tobias. Is that your blood? Why are you doing this?" Franklyn panicked, and Holly took a slow, calming breath.

"Franklyn, maybe you should leave," she suggested, voice light, but strained.

He completely ignored her and continued speaking to the man he thought was his friend. Hannibal tuned out the conversation, eyes focused solely on Holly as he began calculating. Her eyes were darting around the room, glancing down at her position near Tobias, obviously analyzing the situation as well. Her ash-grey eyes flicked up to meet his gaze and they appeared darker than usual. There was something feral within them that signaled something attractively lethal as she shifted so slightly that her capture didn't even notice.

Finished judging their respective positions and their odds, Hannibal moved before the conversation could progress any further, snapping Franklyn's neck quickly and efficiently. Holly sucked in a surprised breath as the man's limp body fell to the floor.

"I was looking forward to that," Tobias snapped angrily.

"I saved you the trouble," Hannibal replied amiably.

"Then allow me to do the same."

Before he'd even finished getting the sentence out, Holly had jumped into action, grabbing hold of his pinky finger and wrenching it at a painful angle. He yelled as she swiftly caught the knife and spun to stab him. Unfortunately, he managed to block it and knocked the knife from her when Hannibal suddenly tugged her back, pushing her out of harm's way.

"Call Will," he ordered as Tobias turned to him.

Scrambling to do as he ordered, because she knew this was not her fight, she snatched up the phone on his desk, dialing Will's number from memory.

"Hannibal?" he asked as he answered.

"Will, Tobias Budge is here and he's trying to kill us," she said, worriedly tracking the fight and dodging out of the way when they came too close, "you need to get here. Now."

"I'm on my way. Just stay alive," he commanded before hanging up.

That may be easier said than done, she thought with dismay as Hannibal took several hard hits and a deep looking slash to his leg. She wanted desperately to help in some way, but she knew better than to distract him by getting involved. She'd only intervene if he needed her to.

Luckily for her, he deftly handled the situation, and Hannibal was able to kill Tobias quickly and efficiently. Once she was sure the danger had passed, Holly darted from her safe spot to him, helping him to his chair even though he was so much taller than her.

"Are you alright?" she inquired worriedly, kneeling on the ground in front of him.

"Yes, I'll be alright," he assured her heavily, reach out and lightly grazing the darkening bruise on her face.

She winced, even though he'd barely brushed it, but didn't lean away from his touch.

"He made the mistake of coming at me head on," she said, watching the contained fury on his face as he wiped at the drying trail of blood on her chin.

"Then he deserved his fate, for striking you," he said, "did you call Will like I asked?"

"He should be here any moment," she answered dutifully before letting out a breath, "perhaps I should start taking self-defense classes."

The serial killer chuckled a little as he leaned back in his chair, thankful that he was so very good at being a predator.

"Hannibal, Holly."

Both individuals looked up at the relieved sound of Will's voice and visibly relaxed when they saw he was entirely unharmed. Will swept Holly up in his arms, holding to her tightly. Having her there, solid and safe in his embrace, finally set him at ease. He'd feared the worst when he saw the body being carried away under the sheet, even though it had obviously not been Holly. The thought that she was seriously injured or possibly in her own body bag had him rushing through the house to find her.

"I feel like I dragged you both into my world," he confessed, burying his face in her hair.

"No," Holly answered gently, running a hand through his curly, dark locks, "I think we were already there."

He looked at her, really looked at her, and took in the bruise, which had finally settled to a mottled purple-blue about the size of three quarters lined up perfectly along her cheek bone. She'd already cleaned the blood from her chin, and the split in her lip had just sealed up, but remained painfully obvious. His blue eyes sparked in outrage as he cupped her face, expression nearly murderous as he analyzed her features.

"Are there any other injuries?" he asked.

She shook her head, looking back at the doctor, still sitting in his office chair.

"Hannibal took the worst of it," she replied, expression reflecting the familiar adoration both men had grown used to, "I feel bad that I wasn't able to help more."

"Don't," Hannibal piped up, "you disarmed him and partially handicapped him. If you had not we may not be sitting here discussing your usefulness at all."

Holly made a displeased sound, leaning into Will's side. She hadn't been kidding when she said she should begin taking self-defense classes. Her closeness with Will and Hannibal was constantly putting her at risk and it would be prudent to learn how to properly defend herself.

"Miss Kaye, Doctor Lector," Jack Crawford interjected suddenly, from the other side of the desk, "excuse me for the interruption, but we need to get your statements."


	11. Chapter 11

**A Valentine's day treat for you guys-this chapter is purely smut. Warning for: anal, threesome, oral sex, sex in general...**

**This my first time writing a threesome so please understand if it's not very good.**

Once the FBI agents had cleared out, Will stuck around a little longer, milling about to help clean up the mess. Holly was humming as she wiped up blood from the floor, completely undisturbed by the fact that she'd witnessed two murders right in front of her. She heard Will and Hannibal both talking quietly, but she was more caught up in her own thoughts than what the two men were saying.

Suddenly it got quiet, and Will was beside her, taking her arm and lightly tugging her up off the floor. She gave him a curious look, platinum eyes questioning as she straightened up to a standing position. He looked…upset, almost; frantic, even.

"Will? What is it?" she inquired, brushing her hands off on her jeans.

Wordlessly, he tightened his grip on her hand and turned, leading her through the house. Wondering what he was doing, she humored him, allowing him to guide her down the hall, up the stairs.

"Will?" she called as he pulled her into Hannibal's room, "What are you…?"

She trailed off when she saw Hannibal was already there, apparently waiting for them. His injuries were sealed and bandaged nicely, and though it still pained her a little to see him wounded, he certainly did not look as though he felt the same way. In fact, he very much looked like there was something going on beneath the surface.

"Hannibal?"

Her voice was an octave too high, she realized, and she quietly cleared her throat, hoping neither man had noticed. From the way the two exchanged looks, she'd guess that hadn't missed it by a longshot.

"Holly, there's something both Will and I wanted to discuss with you," the psychologist began, making Holly blink.

"What is it?" she asked.

As she spoke, he took several rapid steps towards her, and she automatically backed up in return, running straight into Will. The other man wrapped his arms around her waist, firm but not tight, pressing her back into him, effectively trapping Holly. Something ignited, low in her stomach, and she had a sneaking suspicion she was about to find out what they wanted to "talk" about.

"We've noticed that you've changed greatly since you came into our close company," Hannibal explained, closing the distance between them further.

"You're different," Will murmured huskily in her ear, making a shiver pass through her that she was helpless to repress.

"I've seen some of your drawings, Holly. All three of us know what you are, what you've been trying to hide," Hannibal picked up, close enough to touch now.

"I'm not trying to hide anything," Holly bluffed, voice unsteady.

"Liar," Will accused, his lips skimming the shell of her ear, "don't keep secrets from us, Holly, or we'll have to compel you to tell us."

A little gasp caught in her throat as he kissed her neck, tongue flicking out across the skin briefly. Her head tipped to allow him access, but he didn't continue, and she could feel his smirk.

"Tell us, Holly," Hannibal commanded, capturing her jaw and forcing her to look at him as he brought his lips within a hairbreadth of hers, "what have you been trying to hide?"

Will's hands were beginning to roam, finding their way under her shirt to feel the slope and curve of her waist and hips. Her eyelids dropped to half mast, her focus entirely on the doctor standing before her and the warm hands on her body.

"I don't want to be prey anymore," she confessed, voice barely above a whisper, "I want to be the predator now, like I'm supposed to be. I've had enough of pretending to be a lamb."

Hannibal smirked, in that maddening, gorgeous way of his and brushed his thumb across her cheek. One of Will's hands wandered south, to the waistband of her jeans, nimbly undoing the button.

"Then we'll teach you how to be a wolf," he promised lowly, nibbling at a tender spot that made her moan, "and this will be your first lesson."

Will suddenly spun her in his arms so that she faced him and crashed his lips into hers before she could reorient herself. With a pleased noise, she pressed into him, arms snaking up his chest, winding around his neck. Her fingers tangled in his curls, tugging slightly. He audibly growled, and this was accompanied by the sound of her shirt ripping.

When she gasped, he took the chance to slip his tongue into her mouth. He tasted so good, with a sort of unique flesh flavor that her mind registered and catalogued as Will. Too soon, she was pulled back, pressed up against a hard body that she immediately recognized as Hannibal.

Somewhere along the way he'd stripped while Will had Holly preoccupied, and now he helped her into the same state of undress, kissing and nipping and licking at her neck, shoulders, and jaw. She desperately wanted to touch him, but when she tried to turn, he redirected her to face Will, who was also rapidly disrobing.

Holly watched, mesmerized, at the strong, corded muscle that rippled beneath the investigator's skin. The dim lighting cast perfect shadows across the planes of his body, highlighted the muscles in just the right way that she was aching to touch him too. His light blue eyes reflected fire and sin as he stared her down, removing every article of clothing far too slowly for her liking.

Completely naked now, she felt Hannibal's length pressing into her bare thigh. She was flush against him, she could feel the subtle movements of his lean muscle against her back. Will crossed the room to her again, capturing her lips, hands trailing up her sides to her breasts. She moaned into his mouth as he began kneading them, his thumb brushing over her nipples every now and then, sending little shocks through her system.

"Are you sure about this, Holly?" Hannibal asked, squeezing her hip, "This is your one and only warning. There is no coming back from this. Once you're ours like this, we will not be so willing to let you go."

She didn't even need to think about it (although she had considered the prospect more than once), the idea of being with both of them, so completely, so intimately, felt right.

"I'm sure," she answered, panting a little, "please, Hannibal, Will. I need you both."

They exchanged looks over her shoulder before a very dark, very seductive smile twisted Will's lips up and he pulled her into him, stroking her cheek and trailing light kisses along her jaw.

"Soon," he promised, "soon."

He walked her backwards until she legs hit the edge of the bed and buckled. Hannibal, already on the bed, grabbed hold of her arms, sliding her back against the sheets until she lay against him. His hands travelled along her side until he reached her breast again and he began pinching and rolling her hardened nipples between his thumb and forefinger, making her arch and gasp.

Will looked on, licking his lips at the sight of his two lovers, completely naked before him. He lowered himself down, crawling on all fours towards them. Hannibal noticed him first, a silent message passing between them before the psychiatrist distracted Holly with a kiss, dominating her mouth roughly enough that her lip split open again and the cannibal lapped greedily at the blood, somehow managing to turn her on more than he had before.

Taking his opportunity, Will grabbed onto her hips, lifting her up and placing her legs over his shoulders. Hannibal managed to retain her most attention up until the exact moment Will's tongue touched her hot core. A high-pitched whimper filled the room and Holly tried squirming, but the men had her well in hand, holding her firmly in place. Hannibal shushed her, capturing her lips again as Will continued his ministrations, hitting all the right places.

She was getting closer and closer to that edge, nearly there, when he suddenly stopped, gently lowering her hips to the mattress. She whined in protest, but it didn't last long as Hannibal suddenly brought both of them from their lounging position so that they sat upright on their knees. He nudged her legs apart and she heard the crack of a bottle opening, before she felt him at her ass, pushing into her lower back to allow him better access.

Will caught her as the doctor began pushing one finger inside her pumping in and out. She moaned Hannibal's name as he added a second finger, and not soon enough, a third. Holly gripped onto Will through all of this, and he eased her through it with murmurs of praise or encouragement and little kisses and nibbles. Her nails dug into his skin deeper than she intended, and every once in a while an unconscious bite would make him growl or moan, which only just keyed her up more.

By the time Hannibal was finally satisfied that she was ready, she'd nearly gone mad with anticipation. He sat up behind her, his pelvis pressing into her buttocks as he rubbed himself against her folds, coating his shaft in her natural lubrication. Holly gasped into Will's shoulder as Hannibal slowly, achingly, pushed himself inside her, centimeter by centimeter. When he fully seated himself inside her, he kissed a line down her spine, his tongue skimming out to touch the soft, creamy skin.

"You wanted to become a wolf," Will intoned, voice coming out as a husky rumble, "it's time you submit to the alphas."

He tangled his hand in her auburn-tinted hair, but she didn't need any indication of where to go. Holly was already kissing her way down his chest, his stomach, pausing to properly worship the V of his pelvis before moving lower, her breath fanning across his erection. Her tongue flicked out across the head, and at that exact moment, Hannibal shifted. The movement was ever so slight, but she felt it shudder through her body and she nearly collapsed at the pleasure.

"Oh, god," she gasped, breath uneven.

"There is no God here," Hannibal informed her darkly, "only us."

Panting, she readjusted her shaky limbs before licking a line down Will's length simultaneously as Hannibal pulled out of her almost entirely. She felt uncomfortably alone without him inside her, but focused her attention on Will instead, who'd gone far too long without the type of attention she was sure he needed.

She began taking him into her mouth and with each movement, Hannibal began thrusting. It started slowly, as she familiarized herself with Will's circumference, but the more enthusiastic she became, the faster and harder Hannibal pushed into her, until she was moaning on Will's cock, making his groans only deepen as well.

Both Will and Holly were reaching their limit, but Will, not yet ready to be finished yet, pulled Holly away, wiping at her mouth for her as she looked up at him with wide silvery eyes. He looked away from her to Hannibal, that same seemingly telepathic connection passing between them. The psychiatrist slowed his movements until he was just shallowly thrusting and then he stopped altogether, pulling her up again, changing the angle. It felt so good she nearly came right there.

"Not yet," he murmured in her ear, feeling the tension in her body, "be good for us and wait."

Near tears with want, she nodded, leaning her head back against his shoulder as he toyed with her nipples. Will moved closer, his fingers trailing up her thigh to her hot core. He rubbed against her clit, making her shake with the desire to move, even the slightest bit, but she knew that if she did, she'd fall over the edge.

"Will," she begged helplessly, "please, I'm going to…"

His deep chuckle made fresh lightening run into her belly and she sucked in a breath.

"You want it?" he asked, movements slowing, startling blue eyes trapping hers.

"Yes," she whimpered, "please, Will."

He slid his cock against her folds without actually entering her, enjoying the way her nails dug into his forearm and the truly breathtaking noises she was making.

"Ask again," he commanded, lips barely brushing over hers.

"Please, Will," she whimpered, "please, I need you."

His lips found hers again as lined himself up and then slowly pushed into her, bodily adjusting her in such a way that she was acutely aware of both men inside her. She gripped onto both of them tightly, completely out of her mind with a mix of pleasure and need for them to start moving.

"Are you ready?" Hannibal whispered in her ear.

She only managed a shaky nod in response, but it was luckily enough as they began moving in sync. They set a slow, erotic rhythm as one pumped in while the other pumped out so that it was impossible to tell where the cycle started and where it began. She wanted desperately to move with them, but both Will and Hannibal held her firmly between them, and she could do little more than moan their names and accept the praise they readily bestowed upon her.

It wasn't long before both men were reaching their limit right alongside her. Will was panting a little, droplets of sweat make his skin glisten in the low light, and his thrusts were getting messy and uneven. She noticed the same in Hannibal as well, though he wasn't nearly as vocal as Will.

The serial killer turned her chin, almost roughly, to kiss her, dominating her mouth with more ferocity than he had before. Something about his other persona, his true one coming to the surface pushed her that much closer to the edge she was already rapidly approaching. One hand snaked from her waist between her legs, rubbing against her already sensitive clit.

"She can come," Will breathed, lips on her neck, "I'm almost…"

"Please, Hannibal," she moaned.

"You have my permission," he growled, startling her with the ferocity in the four words.

She lost herself in the sensations of both men sliding in and out of her, erratically and out of sync now. Will shifted her hips just a bit in order to continue, but as it turned out, that was all they needed for both men to finally hit those sweet spots. Only a couple thrusts later, Holly came, body tensing, waves of intense pleasure crashing into her. She shut her eyes, seeing stars as she cried out and another orgasm went through her, followed by Will and then Hannibal finishing as well.

She went limp against Hannibal, head dropping back onto his shoulder as he and Will pulled out of her at the same time. She was unaware of the little whine that escaped her before Hannibal gently shushed her, laying her down to his left while Will collapsed on her other side, all three of them covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

"Perfection," Hannibal praised when he'd scraped enough energy together, the backs of his fingers brushing across her cheek.

Her silvery eyes fluttered closed for a moment before she turned into him, snuggling up against him. Will followed soon after, plastering himself to her back with a careless arm thrown around her waist.

"You were stunning," he murmured, kissing her jaw lightly.

She smiled tiredly with a little hum.

"That was…incredible…" she sighed with exhaustion, eyes drifting closed again.

Holly didn't regret what had just happened, and she doubted that she would in the morning.


End file.
